Sacrifice of the Heart
by Maya Perez
Summary: Sam and Dean go investigate a series of deaths where the hearts have been ripped from the corpses.  Sounding a little too much like the werewolf case that ended in such tragedy for Sam, Dean is not sure Sam can handle it.
1. Chapter 1

The full moon bore solitary witness to the activities perpetrated beneath her cascading light. All was not right with the world, or more importantly the Words.

She could only watch as smoke trailed upwards from braziers set at the four corners of the compass. Frenzied, stifled moans mixed with the sound of a droning yet musical chant. A thin flint dagger glimmered under her light as it was raised high.

There was a moment of shocked utter silence.

A swift stroke down was followed by a muffled scream.

The rising scent of blood was carried away on a gentle breeze as Words unraveled and were changed.

This was not how things were meant to be. The moon wept.

-----------

Dean sat behind the wheel of the '67 Impala, eating up the miles down I-35. Depending on the location, it was two to three lanes of pure driving bliss as the highway cut south through the state of Oklahoma. Normally, zooming down this kind of highway in Baby, her 275 hp V8 cranked to optimum speeds, would have had him grinning from ear to ear. But even that simple pleasure had grown stunted and muted, as if it were something long dead and forgotten. Nothing felt like it should anymore.

"I think I found us a job."

Dean threw a questioning glance in his brother's direction, the other too busy on the laptop to notice. Sammy didn't look so good, kind of gaunt. His lanky frame sat half slumped in the leather seat, his dark brown hair in his eyes. Dean knew his younger brother wasn't sleeping well. Hadn't been for weeks. Sammy tossed and turned all night as if hunted, waking up looking more tired than when he went to bed. It wasn't the same as the nightmares and insomnia he suffered from the first few months after Jessica was killed in 2005, but it was affecting him just as badly. Faint frown lines hung around Sam's usually expressive mouth, his eyes darker and duller than they'd ever been.

When was the last time he'd seen his little brother smile? Truly smile? Heck, when was the last time he'd felt like smiling? Everything had become so dark in the last year. When their father died, it was like they started down a broken carnival slide with no way to get off.

And then to top it all off, there'd been the thing with Madison. How he wished his brother had let him take care of her for him. He knew it was eating Sammy up inside like a cancer and there was nothing he could do to stop it. But they'd had no choice. She was a werewolf, and though they tried, there was no cure. She would have been a danger to herself and everyone around her.

Dean had liked her. Madison was spunky, beautiful, and smart. Sam did too. Heck, him just showing any interest in a female after Jessica was a miracle. Made a brother proud to see he was able to take it to the next level. Sammy had fallen for her hard and fast too. That kind of chemistry didn't come around everyday. But then his brother had been forced to kill her. Madison asked him point blank for him to be the one.

Sammy was usually the touchy feely one, but after this he'd clammed up tighter than a force field on a starship. How the heck was Dean supposed to help his brother deal? He wasn't cut out for this crap. Hell, he could hardly take care of his own issues, let alone help someone else deal with theirs. But sooner or later, something was going to give. And he was sure the fallout wouldn't be pretty.

His brother started talking again. "They've recovered four bodies from the Trinity River over the last month down in Dallas. The cops think there might be more. All of the victims have one thing in common so far, their chests were forcibly opened and the hearts are missing."

Dean felt a trickle of apprehension. "You think it might be werewolves again?" He sent a guarded glance in his brother's direction. Reminders of what went down with Maddy was not what Sam needed right now. Not to mention what had happened to him the last time they'd been in the Lone Star State. One moment he's going out for burgers, the next Meg has him tagged as her latest meat puppet. Sammy's emotional plate was already more than full.

His brother frowned at Dean's question, his jaw tightening for a moment. "Time of death is inconclusive, but I would say no. They've pinned the deaths close enough to tell they weren't all during the times of the full moon."

Yes, more than filled, overflowing. "How about we skip this one. We can call

Ellen and have her give it to one of the other hunters at the Roadhouse." Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "I know we never did look into that Chupacabra Gordon mentioned way back, so maybe it's time we did. Could be fun." Gordon was another sore subject, but at least one they took care of. With any luck that sucker would be in prison for years to come, if not forever. Just thinking about him made Dean grip the steering wheel even harder. Crazy bastard.

"No. We're closer." Dean couldn't make heads or tails of Sammy's tone. "Anyway, we'll be able to tell better than most if it's a lycanthrope. We already have what we need if it is and we know what to do about it." The muscle at Sam's jaw line jumped, his gaze flat.

"You sure about this, Sammy?"

"Is there something you're trying to say, _Dean_?" Sam wouldn't look at him. The muscle at his jaw line jumped again.

Dean swallowed hard. Yeah, Sammy wasn't dealing at all. Maybe he could get something out of his system if they took the case -- if they were lucky. "Not me, man. Let's do this thing."

Dean opened the door to the motel room and hesitated at the threshold. Talk about over the top. He supposed the owners didn't want any visitors to have doubts as to what state they were in. It was worse than the one they stayed at in Richardson. If the gaudy wallpaper with riding cowboys and Indians, the lampshades with ropes coiled about the stands as if they were cattle, or the fake six guns in the room divider didn't do it, the beds in the shape of wagons, including wheels and giant fake longhorns decorating the footboards would have done the trick. This was Texas all right – yeehaw.

"Holy crap. And I thought the room with the disco theme was bad." Sammy's face twisted with distaste.

"Guess we couldn't expect anything less from a place called The Corral, could we? We're lucky there's no free roaming cattle in the parking lot." Dean gave his brother a lopsided grin.

Sam just shook his head and went on inside. "Maybe we should have stayed at La Quinta."

Dean shrugged. "This was closer to the action, dude. And more of the no-tell-motel type."

His brother threw his bag on the far bed, claiming it for his own, and sighed. "Whatever."

"I'll go get the rest of the stuff." Dean set the keys on the nearest dresser and stepped back outside, the grin still lingering. He knew most of the places they stayed at were rather trashy, and some outright weird, but oddly enough as strange a life as they had growing up, these places had come to feel like pieces of home to him. Nothing would ever take the place in his heart of their house in Lawrence, but these dinky rooms had come to be the next best thing.

His grin faded as he noticed an old woman running her hand gently over the Impala's side. He'd parked it in the middle of the lot, the slots before their room already taken.

The stranger's red chocolate skin made him think she might be Mexican, until he caught sight of her round face and its unusual flat nose, which marked her as something else entirely. Her braided hair was black, except for a white stripe, like a skunk's, which ran down the middle. Her clothing was also like nothing he'd ever seen before. She wore a loose woven blouse of white, yellow, red, and black. It was tucked into a wraparound skirt that almost resembled a tube and was of the same colors. It was the same for the backstrap woven belt. Long ribbons were woven into her braided hair. Shapes in the same four colors were on the shirt, skirt, and belt, figures that might be moons, snakes, cats, women, and jars. At her neck, she wore a jade necklace in the shape of a serpent. She also wore a white shawl trimmed in black and an apron in black, woven with white shapes that strangely enough seemed to look like bones.

The woman sensed his stare and glanced up from the car. Her dark gaze pierced Dean where he stood. "Ba'ax ka wa'alik, young one."

He couldn't meet the look for long, though he didn't know why. Not normally one to respect much of anything, his instincts told him this was someone to show deference to. It just wasn't something he knew how to do very well. "Ma'am?"

She gave him a soft smile, showing pearly white teeth. Her hand continued to caress the Impala. "Black, the color of the west. Yet the beast is named for a creature from the east. A peaceful creature, the antelope, but this one has much fire, more like a great cat's."

Dean approached, wondering what this was about. He didn't think the woman dangerous; he was normally pretty good about that type of thing, but he knew she wasn't exactly safe either. He didn't entirely understand what that meant.

"Opposites that coexist in the same essence." Her gaze met his again. "Much like you, I think."

This time he couldn't look away. It was like drowning in warm, embracing darkness. "Can I help you?"

"Perhaps." She moved to stand before him and though she was at least half a foot shorter, Dean didn't feel bigger. She studied him from head to toe as if reading all there was to be said of him. "Nurturer, warrior, protector. Your eyes too speak of your hidden nature. The hazel showing as green today -- the color of reflected light in certain eyes."

"Who are you?" Speaking took effort. There was something mesmerizing about the old woman, and something that spoke of true antiquity, which was ridiculous. She didn't seem any older than a nice seventy-five.

"I have many names. Many lives… Many roles…" The old woman's face seemed to flow as she spoke, her words weaving inside him, through him. The lines of age dropped away revealing an exotic glowing beauty. Her right hand rose toward him. She moved his bronze amulet to the side then rested her palm on his chest. Dean could feel his pulse beat faster at the touch, an odd pressure building inside him.

He forced himself to speak again. "What do you want?"

She smiled at him again as if having waited lifetimes for that one question. "A sacrifice of the heart."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam closed the drawer on the dresser, only then realizing Dean wasn't back. Turning around, he found the door still open just as his brother left it. He didn't see any more of their bags, so he knew Dean hadn't been back and gone again.

He would normally have dismissed his brother's absence, figuring Dean had been distracted by some seemly Texan curves and would be back when he was ready. But things hadn't been normal for them for some time.

He felt the lines on his face form a frown and with a pull of will forced them to smooth away. There was nothing to be worried about. Dean probably just got sidetracked as he usually did, or found some excuse to tinker with the car for a few minutes. The one who normally disappeared due to bad things was him, not his older brother. He was the one who'd been kidnapped by cannibals, the one possessed by the demon Meg. With the amulets Bobby gave them, they should both be safe, at least from possession. No matter what he told himself, however, the disquieting feeling in the pit of his stomach just wouldn't go away. Ava had disappeared when by all rights nothing should have happened to her. What if Dean…

Two quick steps took him to the door. If Dean ever found out he was being this jumpy he'd laugh him into next week. It'd be worth it though. Lately Sam just didn't think anyone was safe around him. As if just knowing him put giant targets on people's backs begging anyone to shoot.

His furtive glance into the parking lot didn't immediately reveal anyone. He stepped between the two cars parked in the yellow lined slots in front of him and headed toward the Impala. As he came out from between them into the open drive before the next set of lines, he found him. His brother was beside their car slumped on his side on the ground.

"_Dean_!" Panic had him across the way and down at his brother's side before he realized what he was doing. He placed two fingers to his brother's carotid artery and breathed a sigh of relief as he found a healthy pulse. A quick glance didn't show any obvious wounds or anything else. With care, he cupped his brother's face and pulled him to a sitting position using the car's side to hold him up. He noted eye moment behind the closed lids as he hurriedly checked his brother's head for bumps. Nothing. "Dean?"

Sam lightly tapped his brother's cheek, hoping to bring him around. "Dean, wake up."

On the third tap, Dean's arm came up, pushing the hand away. His eyes blinked open. "Whoa, where's the fire?"

Sam backed up a step, still kneeling in front of him. "Dude, I found you passed out on the pavement. What the hell happened?"

"Wha?" A look of confusion changed to disorientation as he glanced around him. "I… You found me on the ground?"

"Uh, yeah." The panic was easing back a little. His brother's eyes weren't dilated, which was a good sign. And he seemed pretty coherent. Well, as coherent as his brother ever got anyway. "Right here, next to the Impala."

Dean frowned. "Okay…"

"What do you last remember?"

His brother continued to look around as if expecting answers to materialize around them. "I came back out to get the rest of the stuff." His gaze met Sam's. "Next thing I know you're messing with my face telling me you found me on the ground." He absently rubbed at his chest for a moment.

"Has this happened to you before?" Dread and anger pushed for control as several ideas suddenly occurred to him. "Are you keeping something from me?"

Dean snorted with disgust. "No, dude! No way." He tried to stand up and Sam reached out to help him. His brother batted his hand back. "I got it."

Sam stayed poised to catch him if need be, but though Dean swayed on his feet for a moment, he was able to stand on his own with no problem.

"Quit giving me cow eyes, will you? I'm okay. Maybe the heat got to me." Dean continued to survey the parking lot as if still looking for something.

"This is Texas, not the Sahara. You haven't been out here long enough for heatstroke." Sam rolled his eyes. "Idiot."

"Bitch."

"_Jerk_." Sam felt relief flood through him at the old routine. Maybe it really was nothing. He'd make sure to keep an eye on his brother though just in case.


	3. Chapter 3

After they finished stashing their stuff away, Dean whipped up a couple of local ID's and they piled back into the Impala. The morgue was located within the Southwestern Medical Center – a giant complex made up of St Paul's, Children's, and Parkland Hospitals as well as medical school facilities falling under the domain of the University of Texas. An Internet search had come up empty for the location, and only several phone calls and a lot of smooth talking had revealed the Pathology Administration office's location as being inside Parkland itself, in Division D.

Dean pulled into an empty slot at the visitors parking, and glanced around at the multi storied buildings comprising the complex across the street. Texans really did believe in doing everything big. Site of a medical school or not, the place was huge. He dug out the ID's from his leather jacket pocket and handed Sammy his.

"Ted Turner?" Disgust covered his brother's every word. Dean fought to keep his expression neutral. "Dude, we're trying not to draw attention here." He was about to clip it on, when Dean saw him catch a glimpse of the back. He tried to suppress a grin, knowing what was there, but it was hard going.

Sammy threw him a dirty look. "Why does this have a cat looking like he's sucking on a lemon? You trying to tell me something?"

Dean had to fight not to laugh. "Who me? Never, Sammy. Just something to decorate the badge is all. Though if you'd rather wear it that side out…"

"Hardy har har. You are so not funny."

"Says you." Dean got out of the car, his brother following suit.

Clipping on his own badge, Dean led the way down the parking lot and across the street to the tan, almost overbearing building. Walking on as if they knew their business, they skipped the somewhat crowded hospital registration area and aimed for the hallway in back.

Dean pulled out the piece of paper with convoluted instructions on how to get to where they were going. He glanced somewhat wistfully at the McDonalds inside the hospital down the hall on the left, knowing that an order of warm fries would really hit the spot.

The slightly off white walls and white linoleum floors were typical of every other hospital they'd ever been in.

Dean turned left as they neared an area colored in dark grey with a set of elevator banks. An escalator took them down one floor and they went left again until he spotted the sign for the Pathology Administration office right next to Breast Imaging. He tried to crane his neck to look down that connecting hall, but Sam grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the office before he could get a good look.

The room they entered was small, taken up almost entirely by a well-worn desk. A narrow hallway to the side looked to lead to several other offices and file rooms.

A young woman sat at the desk, busily reading a horror magazine and blowing one of the biggest chewing gum bubbles Dean had ever seen. Impressive.

"Excuse me. Do you work here?" There was the tiniest note of doubt in Sammy's tone.

The magazine landed with a thump on the desk. "Don't I look like I do?"

The white lab coat and name badge said she did, but the purple spiked hair, heavy eyeliner, and gray glittery eye shadow argued otherwise. A darkened brow was raised almost in challenge in their direction. Time to salvage the situation.

Dean stepped up to the desk and turned on the charm. "Love the bindi."

The girl's disapproving gaze left his brother and locked on him. "Really? I wasn't too sure it wasn't a little over the top."

"No, I like it. The whole thing really. Kinda fits the place." If you were a death loving freak. But hey, who was he to deny someone their little pleasures. He let his smile brighten a notch.

Her eyes grew a little wider, and he could see a definite spark of interest starting to glow. He had a feeling that under all that pale makeup she wasn't half bad either. Maybe he would leave another notch or two in Texas before he left.

"How can I help you?" She leaned forward on the desk, the better for him to see the tight bodice beneath the lab coat.

Dean sat himself down on the edge of the desk, not minding one bit. "Well, Ted and I, we're kinda low peons on the totem pole over at the Dallas Morning News. We're supposed to be fact checking some old lady's tea party downtown, but decided to take a detour." He let his volume lower just a tad. "You see, Ted here just moved over from LA, and they had a rash of murders down there a few months ago that sound a whole lot like the ones we've got going on by the Trinity now." He sent a glance back toward his brother, who was nodding, going along with the prearranged tale.

"We were sort of hoping we could get some info on the victims and maybe get a story connecting the two out of it? Give us a leg up on the competition at the paper, if you know what I mean." He leaned over toward her. "We wouldn't mind spreading the wealth a little either, so there would be something in it for you, if you'd help us out." He slipped the hundred he and Sam had agreed on onto the desk and slid it toward her.

Her hand settled over his, her gaze intense. She ran a long black nail playfully over his wrist before retreating with the money tucked beneath her palm. "What do you want to know?"

"You know, I'm not sure whether to be happy you were able to get her to cooperate or disgusted about how easily you manipulated that girl."

Dean threw his brother a grin and pumped his brows up and down for good measure. "It's called skills, Sammy, my man. And you're just totally jealous." He patted the side of his jacket where Clarice had slipped her number and when she'd be off shift all week. Life could be sweet.

"Yeah, jealous…right…" Sam gave him one his patented 'not in this lifetime' looks.

Stepping out from the air conditioned building into the late afternoon Texas heat was like a slap in the face – and it was only spring.

"So what all did we get?" Dean asked him. "I was kind of distracted." It'd been quite impressive watching Clarice look up info on the computer, rattle off facts, show them grisly pictures, all while totally undressing him and promising all sorts of things with her eyes. He had a feeling she might be able to teach him a few things.

Sam pulled out his Motorola Q and scrolled through a few pages of text as they hurried toward the car. "Well, I got all four locations for where the bodies were found. Unfortunately none of the victims have been ID'd yet, so that's one trail we can't follow." He scrolled a little more. "Seems they were dumped naked into the river, and were there long enough for the water and fish to make them pretty much unrecognizable. What few prints they were able to get came up empty on the databases, so most of them don't seem to have had criminal records of any kind. One of them did have the fingertips purposely cut off though, so could be someone the killer knew had prints? Nothing conclusive." He shook his head. "There's a search for dental records pending, but no results yet."

Dean nodded. That wasn't much. "All males?"

"Three of the four were. Two Caucasians, one Mexican, and one Negro. The last was the one with the cut off tips. All of them were different heights, different weights, nothing immediately obvious connecting them. Two of them were clearly malnourished, so they could be street people, but then again…" Sam shrugged.

"What about the bodies? The wounds?"

Sam scrolled some more. "They believe they've found bruising that would correspond with the victim's having been restrained. They speculate the cause of death to be a direct blow to the heart from a sharp blade, though without the actual organ to examine, they can't guarantee that. The same blade looks to have been used to open the cavity and remove the organ, though again they don't have any verified ideas on blade type as the water, fish, and everything else in the river distorted the evidence."

Dean took off his jacket – the afternoon sun beating down on them much too warm. "It's starting to sound like there might not be much supernatural about these murders. And we have squat to use to make sure."

"Looks like." Sam put the Q away. "Figured we could buy a map tonight and mark the spots. Maybe something will jump out at us. If not, we could go check each place in the hopes we see something the cops missed."

Dean nodded, opening the driver's door to the Impala. "Wouldn't be the first time."

He slid inside sweat breaking out on the side of his face from the trapped heat even as the leather seat burned his legs through the cloth of the jeans. He jumped back out of the car. "Holy crap!"

An impish grin lit Sam's face for a second. He'd opened the passenger door but had made no move to get in. "A little hot in there was it?"

It was nice to see the grin, but Dean still wanted to thwap his brother on the side of the head for it anyway. Would have too if Sammy hadn't been standing on the other side of the Impala. "Forgot old cars and the Texas sun don't mix so well."


	4. Chapter 4

"Come on, Dean, wake up!" Sam shook his brother's shoulder for the third time, putting a little more force than before.

A muffled groan whispered out from beneath the covers. "Few more minutes..." Dean curled up into a ball dragging his pillow with him.

Staring at the pouty lips and square jaw with its thin layer of fuzz, one wouldn't think Dean was the older of the two of them. One wouldn't think his brother was the one who'd been forced to play parent and responsible sibling since he was four, stubbornly trying to keep ugly truths from his younger brother, fighting a losing battle to try to give Sam a normal life. Things that for years he honestly never knew Dean had done for him.

"Dude, it's already noon. We need to get moving or we're not going to be able to check some of these places out. Get up."

Dean curled up tighter. "Sleepy…goway."

Sam let out a slow sigh. Guess those days were long over. Looked like today he'd have to be the responsible sibling and do things the hard way to boot. Putting a knee on the bed, he reached around his bunched brother and grabbed hold of the covers. Counting to three, he yanked them off the bed.

"Sammy…come on…" Dean reached blindly around him looking for the missing blankets.

"No, you come on. Get up." Sam jerked the pillow Dean was clumped on away from him. He snatched the second pillow off the bed before his brother could grab hold of it as a replacement. "We need to get moving. Sleep time's over." He grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled, half sitting him up. "Did you go out last night or something? Did you go see Clarice after all?"

Dean actually stayed upright, which was a relief. "Huh? No." He shook his head almost making himself fall back over.

"Then you shouldn't have any reason to feel sleepy." Sam swung his brother's legs off the side of the bed. "Come on."

Dean glanced over at him, his eyes droopy, and not looking quite all there. Sam gave him a disapproving frown and helped him to his feet. Dean yawned, stretching at the same time, then half scrunched over. While rubbing at his face, he stumbled toward the bathroom.

Sam kept an eye on him, making sure he didn't just cave in on himself and curl up on the floor. He grabbed the remote sitting on the TV and turned it on. The drone of news programming filled up the room. Sam put the remote back and crouched down to pick up Dean's pillows and throw them back toward the bed.

"…downtown area. On a side note, the first sighting of a jaguar in the last several years was reported last night. After some were illegally shot in the late 90's no confirmed sightings of the elusive…"

Sam grabbed up the covers from the floor and set them on the bed as well. He was about to straighten them out over the mattress when he spotted something dark on the sheets. Reaching over and touching it, it felt like grains of dirt. Looking at the blankets still crumpled up beside him, he noticed more of it.

Sweeping it off the bed with his hand, he barely noticed as Dean came back out of the bathroom, scratched absently at his shoulder, and while yawning, reached for the TV remote on his way past to one of the dressers.

"Hey, Dean, do you know why…"

The channel changed and an eerily familiar voice drifted through the room. Even as he turned to glance behind him, Sam felt an intense pain clutch at his heart, a dreamy revealing afternoon replaying itself -- a memory of something that would never be again.

"Dean…change the channel." Sam's throat closed up so tight he almost couldn't get the words out. Oh, Madison… His eyes burned.

"Huh?"

He could so clearly see her sweet, lopsided smile. Her dark, expressive eyes gazing into his. The feeling of her soft hands on his chest. The smell of her hair.

His heart felt in the grip of a vice, being squeezed as the memories tumbled over him until he thought it would burst. Why did she have to die? Why did any of them? "Dean, change the _fucking_ channel!"

His brother complied, his eyes big, totally awake now, and staring at him as if he were wondering who this stranger was and what had he done with his brother. "Hate…soaps… much?" His confusion was plain.

Sam turned away from him, his cheeks burning, embarrassed because he knew he'd over reacted. But at least the pain, the memories, eased back a bit. "I just…didn't want to see that one."

A heavy silence hung over them for a minute. Sam knew he should say something, anything to diffuse this, distract Dean, but he could think of nothing to say. Nothing at all.

"Madison liked soaps, didn't she?" His brother's voice was tentative. "Is that what this is about?"

Sam swallowed hard. How the heck had Dean remembered that? Madison had teased him about them that first afternoon and then some more during that long night's vigil, and Dean had put in his two cents then too. They'd both been so naïve thinking they might have truly fixed things for her and were only waiting to confirm it. That was before reality crashed around them and they realized their solution didn't work, before everything that looked to be blooming with such promise went to hell, and he'd been forced to… "I'm going out to get a soda." Still not looking at Dean, Sam barged past him toward the door.

"You're the 'get in touch with your emotions' guru, Sammy. Why won't you talk about this?"

The accusation stabbed Sam hard in the back, but he didn't slow. He couldn't talk about it, he just _couldn't_. He didn't think he could even attempt to explain why. He slammed the door on his way out, his body too coiled to be gentle. The doorframe rattled behind him and he heard one of the paintings crash onto the floor inside the room through the paper-thin wall.

A thready sigh escaped him as he pushed his hair away from his face. He forced himself to move on before his brother got it into his head to follow him.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala, elbows on knees, eating the last of his fifth Slim Jim. He was starting to worry. He'd been outside waiting for Sammy to come back for over an hour. The hour before that he'd spent inside the room getting dressed and taping the frame back together on the cheap picture that fell from the wall at his brother's rather violent exit. Sammy wasn't normally that theatrical. Well, except maybe when he argued with their Dad. That had always seemed to get the best of both of them, no matter what it was about.

He shook his head, wiping at the sweat forming at the back of his neck. He was lucky part of the motel was shading this section of the parking lot or he would be doing more than sweating. Dammit, Sammy, where the heck did you go?

As if summoned by the thought, Dean spotted his brother as he made the corner from the street. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, gaze locked on the ground, his long sleeved striped shirt tied about his waist, leaving him only in a dark blue t-shirt. His skin was looking a little pink all around.

Dean finished off the Slim Jim, and thrust the wrapper into his pant's pocket as he slid off the hood. "About time you got back."

His brother glanced up in surprise. A look of guilt, quickly hidden, flashed across his face. "Sorry. Time got away from me."

"Well I'm dying for something cold to drink. How about you? I'm buying."

Sammy nodded, saying nothing, and wound his way to the car before reaching to open the passenger door. "You have the map?"

"Dude…Already in the car, along with your Q, the laptop, the EMF reader, and a change of clothes in case we have to get _dirty_." He gave Sam his best 'I'm always prepared' smile. "Lucky for you the sun doesn't set around here till close to nine."

This got him half an eye roll. Not a bad sign. Not a bad sign at all.

Two of the bodies had been found on the west bank of the Trinity River. They decided to hit those first. The closest was found within the Greenbelt Park, basically a wide strip of green on either side of the river, which could double for a flood plain. The Trinity itself was broad and flat, the water lazily winding its way in a southeasterly direction. Clear the water was not. It possessed the usual fishy type smell, but there was also something sour underneath, like too many pollutants had been finding their way into the mix.

Dean parked on a side street and locked Baby up tight. She blended in okay in the semi rundown neighborhood, so she should be safe. They climbed up the twenty foot or so levy wall paralleling the park area and river. He stopped his brother at the top.

"Check it out, dude." Dean pointed at what could be seen of downtown across the way. "It's the Dallas Skyline. Postcard city." They could see tall glass buildings, some which looked almost like works of art, others made in odd shapes, but most prominent of all was Reunion Tower with its trellised, nightly lit ball at the top, which housed a revolving restaurant called Antares. "Do any of the buildings look familiar?"

He watched Sammy look at them then turn a questioning gaze in his direction. "No. Should they?"

"Sometimes I despair of you, my brother." Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder, shaking his head. "Logan's Run, dude. A bunch of the futuristic buildings come from right here. Though the cool fountain section in the movie is actually in Fort Worth, which is that a way." With his thumb, he pointed behind them toward the west.

A raised brow met this information. "And your geeky trivia is helping us on this case how exactly?"

"It's history, and you're the history freak, right? Just seeing to your proper education. Like an older brother should."

"Yeah, great. The geek teaching the freak. Lovely." Sam shrugged off Dean's hand from his shoulder and started down the other side of the slope. Dean followed, chuckling lightly.

A short hike brought them to the river itself. The slope from the lush grass to the green-brownish water was at least a foot. An occasional short tree or two graced this side of the bank, the other being more lushly populated. It was easy to tell where the body had been found, as the greenery there had been trampled into a mush of dirt and mud by

Emergency personnel, reporters, and gawkers. The spot was at a slight bend in the river not far from the I-30 overpass.

The two of them spent a good ten minutes under the glaring eye of the hot Texas sun before deciding there was nothing to find there. Dean wasn't holding his breath on the next place either.

The second western location was south of I-35, by the Union Pacific rail crossover, in a heavily forested section of the river. Their destination was a wide shallow curve of the Trinity that looked to be a regular catch all spot for floating junk, limbs, and whatever else happened to be floating in the water. After traipsing through the trees and an hour plus sifting through what was there, they came up empty just as expected. The change of clothes came in handy. Dean didn't think he'd ever want to be near the smell of rotting fish again. They still had two more spots to go. "We can cut over on Cedar Crest and get to the east side spots."

Sam nodded at his suggestion, looking about as excited as he was. "Might as well."

The other locations were as unhelpful as the first. None of them showed any readings whatsoever of supernatural residue either.

Dean pulled them into a Sonic Drive-in so they could hydrate, eat, and maybe figure out what to do next. He handed Sam his grilled chicken sandwich, already drooling for the extra long Coney he'd ordered along with a Route 44 Strawberry Limeaid. You just couldn't get tasty treats like these up north.

"Dude, I can't believe you won't try one of these." Dean gave his brother a food filled smile then licked the chili off his teeth. He followed that up with a handful of fries.

"Gah! Why do you always have to do that?" Sam turned his face away, disgust in every line. "No way I'm trying it after that."

Dean chuckled and took another large bite.

Sam set his own sandwich to the side and mucked about with the map instead. "Our one shot is that whatever is doing this isn't changing their MO from kill to kill and is dumping the bodies into the river around the same area every time. Maybe we can work our way north and find it."

"You actually think we can?" It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

"Until someone comes forward and identifies one of the bodies and gives us something else to go on, it's the only shot we've got."

Dean took a long pull from his drink. "Guess we can turn in early and hit the pavement at first light then." He was already dreading the long fruitless search.


	6. Chapter 6

"Dean, where'd you go last night?" Sam's forehead was wrinkled down, his eyes full of concern. His whole body was rigid as if he'd been working himself up to ask this. It made no sense.

"I didn't go anywhere. We both crashed at the same time, remember?" Dean scrubbed the towel over his short hair again, wondering what the hell this was about and at the same time not too sure he really wanted to know. "Did you have a vision or something?"

Sam ignored the question. "Look, I was up about four this morning, and you weren't here."

"Like hell I wasn't." Dean plopped down on the bed. "I was here all night, Sammy." The worry wasn't leaving his brother's face. He didn't like it. "I think I'd remember it if I went somewhere."

"Madison didn't ever remember going anywhere." Their gazes met.

"You're the one who said this case had nothing to do with werewolves. So why the hell are you saying something like this now? You've been real touchy ever since we hit town. What's going on?"

Sam shook his head and stared at the floor. "Dean, there was dirt in your sheets yesterday. You've been sleeping a lot later than you normally do, like you're trying to catch up on missed sleep. You weren't here last night yet you say you didn't go anywhere." He glanced up, pure misery reflected in his face. "What else am I supposed to think?"

"That something else is going on? That you're doing some weird transference shit because you haven't dealt with what happened to Maddy?" Could Sam be right though? Was he missing last night? His dreams had been a little off the wall the last couple of nights, but nothing to get freaked out about. He quickly checked to make sure the talisman Bobby gave them against demon possession was still in place. "Cause I sure as hell know I'm no werewolf."

"Let me check you for bites." Sam stood up.

"Nothing's bit me, _dammit_. I'd remember something like that!" Much to his own surprise, Dean took a step back. Was a part of him not sure? That made no sense. The problem here was Sam not dealing. There was no way _he_ was a werewolf.

"If that's true, then what can it hurt to look? Humor me, will you? _Please_?" The look in his eyes begged him to allow it. There was also barely hidden pain and terror in that look.

Dean hated somehow being the cause of it, no matter what had brought it on. "Sure, give me the once over. Knock yourself out. But you're not going to find anything. Nothing's going on." He stood up pitching the towel on the bed and turned around slowly for Sam to get a good look. "See, nothing."

"You need to take those off. And anything else too." Sam pointed at the jeans.

"You know, I don't normally do this type of thing except for girls. And honestly, even if I did, you're not even all that cute."

At least Sammy had the decency to blush. "Can we please just get this over with?"

Dean stripped and turned all the way around again. "Satisfied? Or are you going to have to feel me up to make sure the bite's not tucked away somewhere?" This was annoying him like hell. Didn't Sammy trust him to know if he'd been bit or not?

His brother's face and neck turned crimson. "I, I don't think that's necessary." He turned away so Dean could get redressed, then threw himself into the nearest chair, slumping down as if collapsing in on himself. Sammy looked tired, worn, but the look of panic was gone.

"Sam…you're not all right, man. It's not like you to jump to conclusions like this."

His brother just shook his head, saying nothing. Dean could see him fighting to make sense of things, his lips twitching, his eyes troubled. Was Sammy coming apart at the seams? Dean subconsciously rubbed at his jaw, trying to figure out what to do. He didn't want a repeat of yesterday if he could at all help it.

"Dean…Something's going on." His brother spoke slowly and softly as if measuring his words before he said them. "I know you don't believe me about you not being here, but I'm sure you weren't."

"We were both pretty worn out last night," Dean countered. "Neither of us is used to this heat. I mean, you didn't actually turn on a light and check on me, did you? You just noticed I wasn't there, made a mental note, and went back to bed?"

Sammy wouldn't meet his gaze. "No, I didn't turn on a light. I only remembered about the dirt this morning and put the two things together. I'd forgotten about it before because of…other things."

He wouldn't even admit it was due to thinking about Madison. Come on, Sammy! "So you have no leg to stand on then. You don't actually know something's going on."

"Why is this not bothering you?"

Dean shook his head. "Because I don't think there's anything wrong. What's a little dirt in the sheets? That could have come from anywhere. Heck, maybe I didn't wipe my boots well enough and dragged it in from outside. Who the hell cares? We have a murderer out there who may or may not be something up our alley, but who will definitely be killing again if his record is any indication. We need to get him caught."

Sam sighed. "Fine. Let's go do that."

Dean wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or worried that his brooding brother let this go so easily. More than likely he hadn't let go of it at all. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

Dean remembered now why he hadn't been all that sorry to leave Texas the last time he'd been here. A light shower had swept through the night before and the sun was cooking it into vapor, making it a sauna for anyone crazy enough to stay outdoors for any amount of time. The fact they'd been traipsing outside for hours next to a river that had seen better days wasn't helping one bit. He doubted he'd ever drunk so much water in his life. But it still felt like it oozed out of his pores faster than he could take it in.

Texans were fond of saying that if you didn't like the weather just give it five minutes. He didn't think that it just getting hotter and muggier as each hour droned on counted. Though he supposed a sudden flash flood or tornado wouldn't improve the day much either.

He thought longingly of the cranky old air conditioner at the motel. On days like this, he could well understand why there seemed to be a unit in every building, home, and car around here. It was a matter of survival – especially if you weren't used to it.

Dean surreptitiously glanced at Sam, trying to gage how his brother was doing. He'd been awfully quiet all day, but aside from looking like a wrung, wet puppy, he seemed okay -- at least on the outside.

His brother's behavior over the last couple of days was poking at him, but he wasn't sure what to do about it. Could it really be an extension of his unresolved issues about Madison? Or was it something else? Something to do with the Yellow Eyed Demon even?

Things used to be easy. You hunted down the evil, saved some people while doing it, killed it, and went on your way. Now you had to worry about whether or not the thing you were hunting was actually hurting things or not, whether normal people might have a hidden ability and someday turn dark on your ass. All the rules had changed and he had no idea how it happened. Why did everything have to get so complicated?

Dean pulled out his water bottle and took a long swig. Better to stick to matters at hand. Not that they'd found a damn thing so far. He forced himself to trod on staring at a riverbank that pretty much looked the same no matter where he looked.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam was already up and in the bathroom before he realized he must have inadvertently fallen asleep earlier. Damn. He wiped at his face, all thought of sleep gone as he cursed at himself under his breath. His neck was stiff and he massaged it as he went about his business.

He'd meant to stay awake. He'd meant to find out for certain whether Dean was leaving at night. Going up and down the river in the muggy heat must have taken more out of him than he thought, however. He hadn't crashed this hard in months. So much for keeping an eye on his brother.

Splashing some water on his face, Sam then glanced at his features in the mirror, barely able to see his reflection by the nightlight on the cheap hairdryer unit on the wall. He didn't look so hot. He barely recognized the guy staring back. When did he start looking so damn serious all the time? No wonder Dean teased him constantly about it. But had there really been a time when didn't feel and look like this?

Yes – during college and Jessica, when he'd been so busy studying there was no room to remember his odd upbringing, his fallout with his father, the pall that always seemed to hang over his family, outsiders to everyone and everything.

He leaned over the sink bringing his face closer to the mirror, wondering if that guy was anywhere inside him anymore. He'd started to hope back then, started to think there was something more to life than hunting, danger, fear. After two years he'd finally reached a plateau where while not totally fitting in with all the eager preppy guys and clueless others, he knew how to navigate among them, how to connect.

And Jess, Jess had been such a beacon, such a healing influence on his soul. He'd looked at rings, rings of all things! He'd started thinking about the future, about making his own family. What a fool he'd been. Such things were never meant for the likes of him. And he kept being reminded of it over and over again -- Jessica, Madison, Ava. He was cursed.

With a grimace he pushed away from the sink and strode out of the bathroom.

He stopped just outside the doorway and glanced at the bed there. He could see lumps, but there wasn't enough light for him to make them out clearly. Dean was there though. He'd worried for nothing. Maybe his brother was in bed last night too. He'd been so sure though at the time. There was the dirt he found in the bed the day before too. And Dean's fainting episode. He had the vaguest notion something was going on, just no idea what, and he'd learned to listen to these hunches. Too many times they'd proven true, whether he liked what they said or not.

But his brother was right – he'd been way touchy since they hit Dallas. Vague notion or not, he was overreacting left and right. He hadn't missed Dean's worried glances when his brother thought he wasn't paying attention. He needed to take things down a notch.

Sam walked to his own bed and pulled his covers back to get in, his gaze drifting across to the other bed again. Instead of going ahead and getting in, he just stood there, motionless, listening. Aside from the occasional hum of the air conditioner, and the numbers flipping on the old electric alarm clock, he heard nothing else. There were no sounds of breathing, no movement at all from the other side of the room. The place in the middle of his shoulders that liked to drill into his back when something wasn't right did so now with a vengeance.

Dropping the covers, Sam went around the bed and reached for the light.

Staring only at his brother's bed, he turned the switch.

The lumps turned into pillows tucked beneath blankets. Dean was gone.

"Dammit!" He flipped the covers looking for he knew not what. Had the pillows gotten tucked that way by accident, or did Dean do this deliberately to make him think he was still there?

His gaze scanned the room in a hurry and a number of details screamed into his awareness. Dean's silver ring and beaded bracelet were on the nightstand. His brother never took those off. The black shorts and t-shirt he went to bed in were folded neatly beside them. What the hell? His cell phone was still in the charger. The car keys sat beside them. This was too pat, too neat.

Bile rose in Sam's throat, his stomach clenching in fear. Where was his brother? Where had he gone? And he had no clothes on? What was going on?!

Shoving the questions as far back as he could, Sam rushed to get dressed. He pulled the automatic from beneath his pillow and double checked the clip was full before tucking it into the small of his back.

He snatched a flashlight from one of their bags and snagging the room and car keys headed for the door.

Yanking it open, he felt the coolness of the last of the night caress his cheek. The moon was a day or two from Last Quarter, but there were enough lights on at the motel for him to see by. The Impala was still neatly tucked into its parking space.

Dean was on foot, without the car. Sam glanced first one way then the other, trying to decide which way to look for him first.

A loud cough froze him in mid step. It wasn't the fact there was someone out there that stopped him, but how loud the cough was. Loud enough to reverberate at least the length of the parking lot.

The cough sounded again and seemed closer, to his right.

Sam toggled the flashlight on and shone it in that direction. The light reflected from a pair of green and gold eyes, dressed in black.

He swallowed hard and tried to stand perfectly still, the light still draped over the unexpected figure. It was some kind of jungle cat, black and large. Its honed muscles rippled as it sauntered out from between two cars, its gaze locked on him. He could feel the eyes trying to pierce him, paralyze him where he stood. A low growl vibrated in the air. Sam slowly started to worm his hand toward the gun tucked in the small of his back.

He frowned as the angle of light revealed a spotted pattern beneath the black fur. This was a jaguar. Didn't he hear something about someone having seen one in the city? He'd thought they tended to shun human inhabited areas. What the heck was it doing here?

The beast carefully drew closer.

Then for no reason Sam could discern, the cat tilted its head sideways and all the antagonism seemed suddenly to go out of its stance.

Next thing he knew, the jaguar was in front of him, butting him at the hip gently with its head. He stumbled backwards at the almost two hundred pound caress. Sam retrieved his hand from his back, leaving the gun in place. Slowly, trying hard not to do anything sudden, he reached forward to let the jaguar sniff his hand. The large cat licked it with its rough tongue. With growing wonder, Sam then moved his hand to scratch it behind the ears. It rubbed its head against him in earnest.

Wondering what the heck he was going to do with this cat now that he had it, he noticed there was something tied around its neck. With a tightness in his chest, he recognized it as the weird demon head pendant his brother always wore. The blood drained from his face. "Dean, my god, is that you?"

The jaguar butted its head against him again.

The hand with the flashlight drooped and its rays fell on the cat's flank. The light glinted off a trickle of blood running down the jaguar's leg. "You're hurt?"

Not quite believing what he was doing, Sam knelt. His heart slammed in his chest, as he hoped that this thing that might be his brother, wouldn't decide he'd make a nice snack. He tried to look at the wound but didn't feel confident enough to try and touch it. "How about we go inside? I can try to treat your leg there? Heck, you probably don't even understand me, do you, Dean?"

The jaguar dragged its tongue over his cheek, scraping it like sandpaper, then butted him with its head again, pitching him back on his bum.

"Okay, okay. We'll go inside." Scrambling to his feet as the bunting got a little more insistent, Sam staggered back to the motel room door. With not quite steady hands, he put the key in the lock and opened it.

The jaguar slipped inside and Sam followed, but not before he sent a nervous glance about the parking lot trying to spot if anyone else had seen any part of this weird drama. He closed the door and put his back against it, not entirely sure what he should do next.

The jaguar limped to Dean's bed and jumped up on it as if it owned the place. Sam supposed that at the moment, it did.

With a yawn that showed rows of wickedly sharp teeth, the jaguar splayed itself out over the bed and licked at its wound before staring in Sam's direction as if waiting to see what he would do next. Its large tail thumped rhythmically against the bed as if marking time.

Moistening dry lips, Sam forced himself away from the door and toward the bed.

The jaguar laid its head down and closed its eyes.

In a sudden flash of inspiration, Sam pulled out his cell phone and took a picture. No way was he going to believe this later without proof. He was finding it difficult to keep his breathing steady, let alone believe what he was seeing, and it was right there in front of him. Could this thing from the wild truly be his brother? It shouldn't be possible. Yet every instinct in him insisted this was Dean. He'd changed into something else, just like Madison. And that had been a very very bad thing. If this was anything like lycanthropy, what the hell was he going to do about it? And would he have a choice?


	8. Chapter 8

"Sammy?" Dean opened his eyes, feeling strangely disoriented, bright afternoon sunlight staining the room. It must be afternoon – why did Sammy let him sleep so late? He shook his head, his thoughts not entirely cohesive. That's when he felt it. It was too quiet. Something wasn't right. He sat up in bed and only then realized he was naked. He never slept naked, not unless he was with someone. But he'd gone to bed like normal last night. They were on a job. "Where are my clothes?"

Dean looked up and spotted his brother sitting in a chair angled toward his bed. Sammy's face was haggard, his eyes bloodshot, as if he'd not gotten any sleep at all. Dean noticed he was holding his .45 loosely in his hands. The case of silver bullets from the trunk of the Impala sat at his feet. Several of the bullets were missing. The feeling of 'things not right' shot up. "Sammy, are you all right? What the hell is going on? What's the gun for?"

His brother didn't look up. "Here." Sam pitched over his flat cell phone. "Look at the pictures."

Dean stared a moment longer at his brother then looked at the phone. He saw a picture of himself asleep in bed. "Well gross! Talk about awkward. Dude, why would you want a naked picture of me on your cell phone? Is there something you should be telling me?" Though his tone was light, Dean was feeling anything but inside.

"Could you, for once, just be serious for a _minute_?" Sam's voice cracked. Dean's feeling of unease took off like a rocket. "Check the picture before that one."

A rock had decided to start rattling around in the pit of his stomach. He was pretty sure whatever this was, he wasn't going to like it. He was right. The picture was blurred as if the action took place faster than the camera could handle. It was centered on the bed, just like the one with him in it, except instead of him lying there, there was a strange shifting shape. He could see black fur, claws, hairless skin, and a motion as if the figure was stretching. "What the hell?"

"Go back one more." Sammy spoke so quietly Dean almost didn't hear him. The gun was still in his brother's hand, not reassuring him in the least.

The new picture was of a black hunting cat of some sort splayed out on his bed. The weird feeling in his stomach turned hard. "That's a good one, Sammy. How'd you pull this off? Planning it for a while, were you? I thought we'd quit with the practical jokes for a bit."

A humorless bark echoed in the room. "I wish. Nothing would make me happier than for this to be some kind of sick joke. But it's not."

Dean cycled through the pictures again.

"I was here, Dean. I saw you _change_. That jaguar is you."

He remembered none of it. He could hardly believe it, even with proof. But there'd been those weird, dazzling dreams – the ones of the jungle, the giant tree, the caves that took you to the underworld – of running, swimming, hunting. Dread spread through him like a fever. "Have I, have I killed anyone?"

Sammy glanced up, his gaze filled with torment. "I don't know."

It squeezed Dean inside. Dammit! He threw back the covers and stood up. His left leg twinged with pain, so he looked down. His thigh was bandaged. He didn't remember being hurt. He sent a querying look Sam's way.

"I think someone took a pot shot at you. It's only a graze."

Nodding and saying nothing, Dean grabbed some shorts out of a drawer. "Where's the police scanner?"

Sammy pointed without looking to the far corner of the back dresser. It was the hand still holding the gun. "No weird homicide calls have come through. But it could just be that no one's come across any of the bodies yet."

The dead certainty in his brother's voice that it was only a matter of time stoked a flame of anger inside him. "Sammy, this is _not_ the same as Madison." He grabbed the Q off the bed and shoved it at him. "Look at the pictures. I'm no werewolf! You saw it yourself. That's a full transformation. I don't understand it. I don't know what it means. I don't know how it happened. But it's not the same as hers! Use your head."

Sam roughly grabbed the cell phone from him and threw it away as he shot to his feet. "Don't you think I _know_ that? What do you think I've been doing since I got you in here?" Dean took a step back, not having expected this much force in his brother's rebuttal. "It might not be exactly like what happened to her, but there are too many similarities to just dismiss it!" He started pacing, looking a lot like a caged version of what Dean was supposed to be. "You passed out the other day for no reason. You disappear after you fall asleep. You change shape. You have no recollection of what's happened or what you've done! What the hell else am I supposed to think?"

Dean wanted to make him stop pacing, or join him, or punch the wall, something! He had no more answers than his brother did. At least none that made much sense. "I've been having these really vivid dreams lately. Stuff I don't understand yet I know about. I always get the impression I'm looking for something. Maybe all this has something to do with that? Maybe if you did some research?"

Sammy sat back down, deflated. The hand with the gun hung between his knees as he rubbed at his face with the other. "I already have. I didn't find anything conclusive. I mean, there's lore all over the place, Indian, Maya, Olmec, Japanese. Gods do it, demons do it, almost every friggin' culture around the world has some type of myth about people changing shape into something else." Frustration dripped off him in waves. "But in all of them, those changing are aware of it. They're doing it because it's an ability they possess, because they want to transform. Werewolves are different, it's more like a disease or curse with them, it's something they can't control. And with you not even being aware that you're doing it…" He looked up, tears glinting in his eyes. "I ask again, what the hell else am I supposed to think?"

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight already pressing his brother's shoulders. "You saw me in that other form and I didn't hurt you though, right? And I'm human right now. So for the moment everyone's safe – you, me, the people out there. Tonight…maybe tonight you can stay up, keep an eye on me. If I change, follow me, see what I do. If it looks like I'm going to hurt someone, then you do something about it, if not…then maybe we can learn something more about whatever the hell is going on."

His brother considered what he said and the weight suddenly seemed less heavy on them both. "Okay…" The muscle at Sam's jaw bulged, his brother still coiled tight, but there was less of an explosive edge to it.

"So can we put the gun away now?" Dean tried to sound as nonchalant about the request as he could manage. The whole thing was still creeping him out.

Sammy stared down at his hand as if having forgotten the automatic was there. He flicked on the safety and tucked it back behind his shirt, keeping his gaze lowered to the floor. "Sorry."

Dean heaved a sigh of relief. "You haven't eaten all day have you? With the vigil and all." He shook his head, knowing better. "Of course you haven't. Well I'm starved. Let me get dressed and we can get out of this stuffy place and have us a proper chow down. Tonight will be tonight and we'll worry about that when it gets here." He knew chances of that were slim, his brother an expert at brooding. But damn it if he wouldn't give it his best shot and keep him from thinking about it. Distracting Sam would distract him too, and he wanted some kind of distraction pretty bad right at the moment. Might be time to try something outrageous. He doubted Sam had ever tried riding a mechanical bull. Could be a blast.

He started digging in the drawers for some clothes.

"Dean…back at that haunted hotel in Connecticut…" He heard Sam hesitate, his indrawn breath uneven. "I forced a promise from you…that if I went dark side, that you'd take care of it. That you'd kill me… I'm, I'm sorry for that. It was totally selfish of me and I knew it. But just knowing there'd be an out if everything went totally wrong, if it turned out I wasn't strong enough…"

Dean barely dared breathe, let alone move. Sam's anguish as he spoke was palpable. This was one of the few things they never talked about, and the one promise Dean had had to face he could never bring himself to carry through on – even if it cost him his life.

"I didn't know what I was asking and I'm sorry. I just never knew, I never considered how it would make you feel… And now that I might have to do the same for you…"

Dean forced himself to turn around, a confident smile plastered on his face. "Well, we'll just have to make sure you never have to, don't we? And you won't. Not if I have anything to say about it. We're going to find out what this is about and fix it. That's all there's to it." And they would fix it, even if it was the last thing Dean ever did.


	9. Chapter 9

"Sammy, it's time to wake up."

The moment Dean touched him he was awake. He sat up, moving the hair away from his face, and looked his brother over. Dean had his game face on. It couldn't have been easy for him to be awake alone, thinking about the bomb Sam dropped on him this afternoon. Not that Dean would have necessarily talked to him about it. It went against his image of a man to share. But Sam knew from his own experience that even if you couldn't talk to someone about what was bothering you, it always brought at least a modicum of comfort to know they were there, that if you made the choice, there was someone next to you who would listen. Today he'd not been able to give his brother that option.

He'd been exhausted from last night, from the frustrating research, the clenching dread of what he might have to do. After the two of them agreed on how to proceed, Sam had no choice but to try to catch a few hours sleep, especially since he would be keeping watch again tonight. "You okay?"

"Five by five, dude. Even got you some dinner. It's over there on the desk."

Protective Dean in full force. "Thanks."

His brother slipped into bed and turned off the light on his side. "Just keep the chewing noises down to a low roar, okay? I'll be trying to go to sleep over here."

"You're still not funny, Dean. Give it up, will you?"

Dean turned on his side, throwing the sheets up over his head. Before Sam could turn away to see what unappetizing tidbit his brother had decided to torture him with for dinner, Dean sat back up and with a perfectly straight face said, "And no surfing for porn neither," before plopping back down and covering back up.

Sam grabbed the cushion off the nearest chair and pegged him with it.

"Trying to sleep here! Trying to sleep!" The cushion came flying back, but Sam dodged it easily, a grin halfway tugging at his lip. He thought his brother had a large dose of goober in him a lot of the time, but dang it if it didn't make him feel better every once in a while. It was the rest of the time he had issues with.

Sam ate, watching his brother's back from where he sat, an undercurrent of excitement heavily tinged with fear sparking through him. Tonight they would get answers, or at least that was the plan. He just wasn't so sure he'd be able to deal with what they found. The pizza turning sour in his stomach, Sam pulled out his .45 and checked the clip. His hand shook as he snapped it back in. He closed his eyes and sent a prayer to God and all the saints he could think of, begging them to spare him from having to use this on his brother tonight. He begged his mother for guidance, trying to hedge his bets as much as possible. Swallowing hard, he slipped the gun into the small of his back and tried to settle in for the possibly long wait ahead.

The minutes ticked away and nothing happened. The faint hope that maybe nothing at all would occur nibbled at the back of his mind, though he knew better. Midnight came and went. Dean shifted in the bed and Sam tensed. He was only turning over. Sam was actually surprised his brother could sleep. If it'd been him in Dean's place, he couldn't have closed his eyes let alone drift off.

Close to one, Sam jerked back as Dean suddenly sat up in bed. He turned and swung his legs out the side.

"Dean? Something wrong?" Hackles rose in the back of his neck, though he had no idea why. Then Dean's head turned to look at him. Those weren't his brother's hazel eyes – they were yellow, almost golden, and he'd seen them before. They were the eyes of the jaguar.

It got hard to breathe. Those gold eyes looked at him, through him, again trying to paralyze him. They never left him as Dean's body removed his ring and bracelet, only leaving the protective necklace behind. Then he undressed.

"Dean?" The query was almost a croak. Sam's throat had gone totally dry.

The stare left him. The air shimmered over the surface of Dean's flesh and he began to change. It was as if all he was was being unraveled and then rewoven into the shape of a hunting cat.

The fact Sam had seen the amazing phenomenon before didn't make it any easier to watch again. And everything he saw drove something else home – it didn't look like his brother was in there alone. Yet Sam knew of nothing that could take you over and then make you change shape. In no way did it make him feel any better about all of this.

Not knowing what to expect, he forced himself to his feet, his gaze never leaving what had but moments before been his brother.

The jaguar stretched, kneading the cheap carpet, its back rising up into the air. The golden eyes turned their attention to Sam once more. This time the paralyzing look wasn't there. He didn't know whether to be reassured by this or not.

The cat waltzed over and butted him at the hip pushing him in the direction of the door. Sam stumbled sideways but didn't fall. Was Dean trying to tell him something? As he stood there in indecision, the jaguar rubbed against his side then took the cuff of his shirt in its teeth and tugged. He followed.

The jaguar led him to the closed door then sat before it expectantly. When Sam did nothing, the cat gave that strange cough he'd heard it do before and glanced at him expectantly.

Staring from it to the door and back, Sam flushed, feeling stupid, as he realized it wanted him to let it out. He stood in indecision for another moment, feeling the weight of the .45 against his back. He sent out one last prayer and reached for the knob.

The instant the door started to open, the jaguar slinked through to the outside. Sam quickly moved to go after it, not wanting to let it out of his sight. The jaguar blended perfectly into the shadows. He felt a touch of panic. "Dean! _Wait_."

Rushing between cars into the parking area, he spotted it again, rubbing against the side of the Impala. Relief flooded through him. He hurried to catch up.

As it had done at the door for the motel room, the jaguar sat beside the driver's door to the car, staring at it expectantly.

His heart slamming hard against his ribs, Sam realized they were about to go for a ride. He opened the door to the car. The jaguar jumped in and sat before the steering wheel.

"No way. You're not driving. Move on over." The conversation was ludicrous, but it was the only thing he could think of to say. Dean was definitely in there somewhere. But how to get him back permanently?

The jaguar sent him a hurt look, but shuffled over without comment.

Sam shook his head, the surreal quality of all this rising by leaps and bounds, and slipped inside. He slid the key into the ignition and turned the engine over. As the Impala sat there and idled, Sam threw a glance in the jaguar's direction. "Where do you want to go?"

A clawed paw picked at the glove box but couldn't open it.

Knowing he was definitely nuts, Sam leaned over and opened it for him. The large black nose poked at the map folded inside. Sam pulled it out and opened it on top of the seat. Aside from the locations of where the four bodies were discovered, it was marked with how far the search along the riverbank had progressed. The jaguar's large paw plunked down over the map, over the same area.

An expectant gold gaze met his. "You want to go to the river?" The cat butted its head against his shoulder.

Sam stared at his changed brother for a long moment. Working on the case was the last thing he thought they would be doing tonight. Could the two matters somehow be related? He realized at the moment, he didn't care. This was a much better alternative to anything he imagined would happen tonight and with it he would go.

Sam drove them toward the site of the body farthest upriver, south of US 30 before the I-35 junction. When he parked as close to the levy wall as he cold manage, the jaguar pawed at the door handle of the Impala until he popped the door open and slipped out.

"Dean, no!" Sam jumped out of the car, dread flooding through him at the thought of losing track of his brother. He needn't have worried; the jaguar was waiting for him in a pool of shadow, giving him an amused look. Great, now he was imagining it acted like Dean too. This was nuts!

The jaguar padded off toward the river and Sam followed. Heavy clouds obscured the sky, making the immediate area almost pitch black. They had flashlights in the car, but he didn't want to take the time to go and get one, plus in all this darkness, all it would do was attract unwanted attention. He just wondered what in the world Dean thought he would find here they didn't the first time they inspected the place.

The moment they reached the spot, the jaguar began to growl, its tail swishing rapidly back and forth. Sam glanced about quickly, trying to see what had set Dean off, but saw nothing but grass and the dark ribbon that was the river. The overpass and other streets were too far away to see anything distinct. With any luck, anyone there would see them no better. "What's wrong? Did you find something?"

The growl deepened, the jaguar standing stock still, its nose sniffing first one way and then another. Then with a loud grunt, it leapt into the river.

Sam rushed forward, possessing no idea what was going on. "Dean!"

The jaguar was having no problems in the water and was heading upstream toward the shore on the far side. Belatedly, Sam recalled that jaguar's were quite accomplished swimmers, comfortable in both water and land. And while he was a pretty good swimmer himself, he didn't trust the polluted water in all this darkness. He couldn't even see the other side, the halo of lights from the city around them making the darkness even deeper. "_Damn_ you."

Left with little choice, Sam ran back to the Impala and tried to find the closest entry for Loop 354 to get to the river's other side. Going up Industrial Boulevard, he found a place to stash the car then rushed back into the Greenbelt. Too worried now to care, he brought a flashlight and swung it back and forth looking for his brother.

The Trinity River wasn't like those in the jungle. What if there was an undertow or something and it caught his brother unawares? Or the pollution got to him somehow? Visions of finding a dead jaguar or the body of his brother downstream sent shivers of dread up his spine. "Dean!"

A loud cough jerked him to the left. The light of the flashlight bounced off two far points of green. Sam broke into a run.

He found the jaguar close to shore on its back rubbing itself against the grass in a maddened frenzy. It smelled of fish and worse.

Sam leaned over and put his hands on his knees trying to get his breath back as he was flooded with relief.

A half whimper greeted him, the gold-green eyes glancing over at him full of misery.

"That's what you get for being such a hothead, you idiot! I would have happily driven you across." This was definitely his brother.

Another whimper accompanied more rolling in the grass.

"We'll get you cleaned up somehow." He shook his head. "Was it worth it? Did you find something?" He wasn't sure how any type of smell could have survived this long or how the jaguar could track it across the river. But something had set it off.

As if his words recalled the mission, the cat jumped back to its feet, its nose sniffing the air again. The growl returned. It started in the same general direction as before, to the northeast.

"Dean, no! The car, dammit, the car! You can't just be running anywhere you like in this place. Please?"

The jaguar stopped and actually seemed to consider what he said. It padded at his heels when Sam turned to go back to where he parked the Impala.

Rolling down all the windows, Sam let the jaguar in. The smell coming of the cat's coat was worse than Dean's insatiable love of onions. He was going to need all the fresh air he could get.

The cat used a large paw on the dash to indicate the direction it wanted him to go. It was kind of creepy and natural all at once. Bobby would never believe this.

They followed Reunion Boulevard around the Hyatt Regency hotel and the telltale lighted ball of the Dallas skyline. Downtown Dallas was a maze of one-way streets. The jaguar would grunt or cough in impatience every time Sam couldn't immediately turn in the direction it wanted to go. After some odd maneuverings, they finally made it to where the cat's nose somehow led them.

Sam stared at the building before them, thoroughly surprised by where he'd been led. He supposed it was no weirder than anything else that evening. The focused lights before him showed the name of the place. It was the DMA – the Dallas Museum of Art.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean opened his eyes and sat up with a start. "Sammy!" A queer excitement was running through his veins. The dream was so _clear_. He glanced around the motel room looking for his brother, and noticed the shades were drawn tight over the windows. A lump on the other bed moaned slightly, shifting beneath the covers.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was past two in the afternoon. A frown momentarily creased his forehead as he pulled away the blankets to get out of bed. Much to his chagrin, he found he was naked again. He could only assume he must have changed last night, but it didn't trouble him. He was sure there was nothing wrong or evil in the change. He knew he should be more worried about it, about how none of it seemed under his control, but he wasn't. Nothing about it felt wrong. The fact he was here and Sam was sleeping only added to the certainty there was zilch to be concerned over.

He put back on the matching black t-shirt and shorts he used for sleeping from where he found them neatly folded on the nightstand. That in itself seemed odd, but he didn't question it.

He considered going back to bed, but was too awake. He stared again at his brother, who looked not to be waking anytime soon. Yet that strange feeling inside him wouldn't go away. Things needed doing, things needed telling. It was like an itch that got worse the more he tried to ignore it.

He sat on the edge of Sam's bed and gently prodded his shoulder. "Sam. Come on, dude. I gotta talk to you."

Sammy half rolled onto his side, opened one eye and stared at him. "Huh?"

"Dude, I had another dream last night. And I finally found it! I found what I was looking for."

Sammy slowly propped up on an elbow and rubbed at his eyes. "What was it?"

He shook his head. "I'll get to that." Dean found he couldn't sit still. He stood up and grinned down at his brother, resisting the urge to bounce around. "First I have to tell you about the other parts of the dream." His grin grew bright. "You were there with me this time, Sammy. The two of us ran through the jungle _together_. I even jumped into a river and left you behind. You were so pissed!" A laugh escaped from him, recalling his mirth as Sam cursed at him from shore. "You had this weird belt on and woven pants in wicked colors. You even had this necklace made of jade with the faces of animals, and you had this small bag of charms or something strapped to your chest. You looked like a medicine man or something. It was _awesome_. Everything was finally _right_. It was like you needed to be there." His words were almost running together he was speaking so fast. He doubted he was making much sense but he couldn't slow down.

Sammy grabbed his arm and yanked him down as he sat up in bed. Startled down to his knees, Dean could only stare as his brother's gaze raked worriedly over his face, his hand reaching up to press against Dean's forehead.

"What are you doing?" Confused, he pushed Sam's hand away.

"Are you okay?" Sammy's intent gaze still hadn't left his face.

"Yeah, fine. Why the hell wouldn't I be? I'm trying to share something here!" He pulled away and moved to sit on his own bed. "I'm sure it's important."

"Okay, I'm sorry." His brother looked away, his gaze veiled. "Please finish."

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling suddenly uncomfortable and unsure. Why was this important? And since when did he ever share anything like this? Yet these realizations did nothing to change the sense of urgency or discovery he felt. "At, at the river, I found what we were looking for."

Sammy nodded, bidding him to go on, but said nothing. Hi expression was neutral.

"It was this smell, this horrible smell. Cloying like perfume, but rotten somehow. Like a perversion of something?" Though he knew innately what it was, words just couldn't describe it. The smell carried with it such a feeling of wrongness, like it was contrary to the nature around them, to everything. "You met up with me somehow on the other side of the river and I tracked it down to the weirdest place." He half moved to stand up but sat down again. His leg pumped up and down of its own volition in nervous motion. "It, it was a huge temple of some sort, but not like anything you'd expect to find in a jungle. It was…it was like made up of different pieces of other buildings, you know? Joined together into this thing. The pieces were from different places, different periods. Does that make sense?"

This time he couldn't stand Sam's silence anymore and got to his feet. "It's a clue, Sammy! Somehow this has something to do with who we're looking for. I know it's been bugging you and everything, but I'm ninety, no, ninety nine percent sure whatever is going on with me is a good thing and not bad. That somehow I am getting clues about this murderer in my dreams."

Dean waited tensely for a reaction, for words, arguments, anything, but his brother did nothing. Sammy's brow bunched down in that way it did whenever he was thinking hard, but he still said nothing. He wouldn't even look at him.

"Sammy?" No reaction. "Don't you think this is important? _Sam_!" His impatience getting the better of him, Dean grabbed his brother by the arm and yanked him to his feet. This finally got his attention. Their gazes met. "What is going on in that head of yours?"

He watched his brother open his mouth, yet no words came out. He swallowed once, twice, then tried again. His expression was troubled. "We, we were together, Dean. You did cross the river and leave me behind to figure out how to drive across. And we did find a building downtown full of things from other places and times. But we were never in a jungle, unless you mean one made of concrete."

Dean let go of his arm and took a step back. This was all starting to sound weirder than most of the stuff they usually dealt with. "So you're saying I dreamed things I was actually doing and seeing?"

"Yes? No?" Sammy shrugged his hands palm side out at his sides. "None of this is making any sense. I honestly have no idea who or what is doing any of this."

Dean waved that away. It wasn't what was important. When would his brother understand that? "What about the killer? Did we find him? Did we catch him?"

"No!" Sam flopped back to sit on the bed again. "It was like three or four in the morning when we found the place. It was locked up tight. Nothing looked out of the ordinary as far as I could tell."

Finally Dean comprehended what the sense of urgency was about. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go check it out while it's open. We might be able to find some more clues."


	11. Chapter 11

Sam was barely able to put on some clean clothes and brush his teeth and hair before Dean was shoving him in a hurry from the motel room out into a Texas afternoon. Large puffs of clouds covered the sky, and for once the heat was subdued into almost proper spring temperatures.

Uneasiness draped his shoulders like a cloak as he watched his older brother almost skip to the Impala. Not that this was something necessarily unusual. There'd been plenty of other times when some mission or other made Dean act like a little kid on Christmas morning. Give him a monster to hunt and a trail to follow and he'd grin like a loon for hours – totally submerged in his element. Doing what he'd been born to do. Unlike him. Or so he kept telling himself. Though this was definitely better than whatever the Yellow Eyed Demon deemed Sam should be doing and which he hoped never to find out.

He shook his head, dismissing the somber thoughts, and trailed after his brother.

No, the problem was everything else about this situation, and the fact Dean didn't seemed concerned by it in the least. It wasn't normal. If he were the one having lost time, whether it was spent dreaming some off kilter alternative of reality or not, he'd be freaked. Heck, had been freaked! It had happened to him when the demon Meg took possession of his body and went off to murder hunters with it, then tried goading his brother into killing him to boot. There'd been lots of major freakage afterwards. Yet Dean was taking all this in stride as if nothing could be more normal. It wasn't right.

"Sammy, catch!"

Sam glanced up just in time to see Dean toss him the Impala's keys. He fumbled for them and was able to catch them before they hit the ground.

"You're the one who knows how to get to where we're going, right? So you drive."

Sam raised an eyebrow. This wouldn't be the first time Dean let him drive the Impala, but it sure wasn't the norm. And not knowing how to get somewhere had never been an impediment for Dean before. He really must be in a good mood. It just made Sam worry all the more.

Dean opened the passenger door, then hastily fanning his face took a step back. "Dude! What did you do to my car?"

Sam opened his own door not surprised by the fermenting smell of wet cat, fish, and insecticide issuing from within. He gave his brother a disgusted look. "I didn't do anything. This is _your_ fault."

"Like hell it is!"

Sam gave him a tight smile, enjoying this despite everything. He didn't get to turn the tables on Dean every day. "I'm not the one who went for a dip in the Trinity River, was I?"

He saw his brother's face fall with realization. "Oh crap."

"Not so funny to have left poor old Sam at the shore now, is it?" Oh yeah, this was sweet. He could feel his smile growing brighter.

Dean totally ignored him. "Oh, Baby, I'm so so sorry. I didn't know! I swear!" He scrunched down inside the open door and caressed the dash, looking totally abashed. Sometimes his brother was downright weird. "Sammy, we've gotta make a stop on the way. Please! I've got to buy some Febreze or something. I can't leave her like this."

Sam slid into the driver's seat. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." Totally weird.

After making a quick stop, fogging the car with smell absorbers as Dean apologized to the car – again! – then grabbing a quick bite to eat as the whole mess aired out, Sam drove them to the DMA.

A large multistoried building, the roof wasn't flat, but rose and dropped levels and even possessed a half dome, giving the whole a strange, half jumbled together look. A huge red colored piece of artwork, composed of what appeared to be building struts, graced one side of the of the cultivated lawn.

A round fountain filled part of the paved area before the rectangular entrance, the multiple shooting jets of water a work of art in of themselves. The sound of the falling streams would have normally been soothing, but today there was too much at stake.

"I remember this place." Dean dipped his hand into the water and threw a bit of it in Sam's direction.

He was barely able to dodge the spray, caught off guard by his brother's words. "You've been to an art museum?"

"Well, not 'in' one." Dean came close and swept his wet hand over Sam's shirt to dry it. Sam pushed him away, giving him a dirty look. "About fifteen years ago or more this place had this awesome demon/hell door as some kind of outside décor. Dad figured we should check it out, just in case. Got no readings from it though. Wicked looking thing. Be an awesome front door."

"Can we go _inside_ now?" Sam tried to lace the request with as much sarcasm as possible. He was pretty sure Dean was talking about a casting of the famed Gates of Hell by Auguste Rodin. It had given him the creeps when he saw it at Stanford, one of the castings having been exhibited there. The images of torment and misery were too close to reality for his tastes. Only his brother would think it something to be used as a common house door.

Without waiting for him, Sam headed toward the entrance. His brother caught up to him at the ticket counter inside. Sam paid for the tickets, wondering if letting his brother in here might be a mistake. Dean's concept of art was dogs playing poker around a card table. Probably see it in the foyer right after you came in through the Gates of Hell front door.

"What now, bro?"

Sam shrugged. "We look around, see if anything looks weird. Unless you have another idea?"

"Nope." Dean pulled out his homemade EMF scanner. Dorky as it looked, the thing worked and had come in handy a number of times. Not that he'd ever tell his brother that.

The first floor was split into different sized galleries for temporary exhibitions as well as contemporary art galleries. The first room was an exhibit of Greek statues.

A faint chuckle made Sam glance at his brother. He was staring at a statue of Aphrodite.

"Dude, ancient porn." His brother had a lecherous, loopy grin on his face, his gaze plastered dead on the goddess's exposed chest. Dean took a step closer to the figure.

Sam punched him hard in the arm.

"_What_?" Dean rubbed at the spot, giving Sam a wounded look. "I haven't touched anything."

Sam pursed his lips, trying to hold back the urge to strangle his brother in public. "But you were thinking about it. _Don't_."

"Geez, you can be so mean." He rubbed at his arm again. "Damn that _hurt_." Dean quickly moved out of his range of fire. "Friggin' no sense of humor art freak."

Renaissance art, Roman tile work, and more were gathered together for all to view. Another room contained a special exhibit on the Maya. The back wall held a representation of the Calendar Round, which mixed the two main calendars of the Maya, the Tzolkin and the Haab to give a date designation that would not be repeated for 52 years. It looked like a set of three gears made of large, fake stone. The smallest sat inside the middle sized one, while the larger connected with the middle one on the outside right.

"The date's wrong." His brother was staring at the back wall with unusual intensity.

"What are you talking about, Dean?"

"On the calendar. The date's wrong. It's off by two days. Can't you tell?"

Sam felt the hackles prickling on the back of his neck. "Uh, dude… That's a Mayan calendar. How the heck can _you_ tell?"

Dean turned his head to look at him, his mouth opening for some kind of comeback that just seemed to suddenly stutter and die. "Uhm…because…" His face scrunched up for a second. "It's…something I remembered?" The last came out in an unsure little boy voice.

First transforming into jaguars, now this. What next?

"Do you smell that?" Dean moved away from him toward a glass case on the left.

"Smell what?" Sam hurried to catch up to him, detecting nothing out of the ordinary in the air.

"The rotting nectar. Like spoiled fruit. Like in my dream." Dean sniffed at the air, the motion very much like what Sam had seen his jaguar form do before.

The prickling at Sam's hackles spread into goose bumps running up and down his arms and back.

The counter before them had bits of jewelry, small figurines of frogs, snakes, and other animals, some with human characteristics. There were thirteen different types of flint daggers, nine incense burning vessels, and seven jade masks. Each mask seemed a representation of an animals or deity, some possibly of both. Most were whole, while a couple appeared to have been meticulously glued back together to their original shapes.

Sam took the EMF reader from Dean's unresisting hand and swept it over the top of the case. The lights remained dormant. "Is it everything in the case that smells?"

He saw Dean frown then inch by inch work his way down the case, his attention focused on the items beneath the glass. "It's one of these." He nodded toward the knives. Most didn't look like they could be used for anything but decoration, the way the flint was cut into branches making them too flimsy to be used for anything else. A couple looked quite serviceable, however. "And definitely that." His finger pointed at an intact mask in the shape of what might be a jaguar's face.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean stepped away from the case, feeling strangely soiled, as if he'd been covered in an oily substance. That sensation of wrongness from the dream surrounded him and closed in as if trying to smother him. He took another step back, the room spinning at the edges of his vision.

"Dean?" Sammy was suddenly at his side, propping him up by the elbow. Had he tried to fall? "Come on, let's go back out into the hallway."

Not sure he could resist even if he wanted to, he let his brother lead him from the room out into the broad corridor of the museum. The farther from the case they went, the better he felt. With a snap, everything went back to how it was before. He stopped. "I'm, I'm okay."

Sammy's worried gaze scanned him, trying to verify what he said for himself. "You sure? You looked pretty green there for a minute."

"I'm good." He gently pulled his arm from his brother's grip. "Honest."

"The EMF didn't pick up anything. And nothing seemed out of the ordinary to me. You sure there was something there?"

"It's not part of the Fruit of the Earth, so it wouldn't pick it up." He didn't realize until he noticed Sam's confused look that he'd said anything odd. It was like when he looked at the calendar and knew the date was wrong, as if he were remembering things he already knew but hadn't recalled till that moment. "The plane we live in?" It was more than a little disconcerting, this knowing of things he didn't know he knew.

Sam kept staring at him funny.

"I'm okay! I know what I'm talking about." He made a circular motion with his hand. "Just…just go with it. Trust me."

"What's next then?"

Dean wasn't all that sure Sammy was convinced, but at least he wasn't staring at him like an escapee from the loony bin anymore. "Wasn't there an information desk by the front? Let's see what they've got to say."

They made their way over to a short desk. A thin man in his late thirties with frost tipped hair was sitting smartly behind it with a fitted green jacket, his name on a gold tag on the lapel.

"Hey, Danny, mind giving us some info?"

Blue eyes widened as the man turned in his stool to look at him. With a quick flick they inspected Dean from top to bottom. A brilliant smile grew on the clean-shaven face. "Well, hello there, handsome. Aren't you just the yummiest drink of water." The man's gaze roamed over him again. "We don't get many in here with that lovely roughed out look. It so suits you."

Dean heard Sam try to stifle a laugh beside him. He didn't do a very good job of it. Bastard.

"Yeah, well, uhm, we were kind of curious about one of the exhibits?"

Danny leaned over his desk his gaze never leaving Dean's. It reminded him of Clarice at the morgue, but in this instance it was so very very wrong. He threw a glance in his brother's direction, hoping to plead for help. Sammy had turned away, half doubled over, his hand over his mouth. He'd get no help from there. Traitorous bastard.

"What would you like to know?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Look, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I don't go that way."

Danny shrugged and leaned back, his gaze no less intense than before. "I work in a museum. I'm used to just looking."

A gasp of amusement rang over from beside him. Without looking, Dean whacked Sammy on the side, trying to keep a controlled neutral look on his face for the information guy. "We were wondering how long the Maya exhibit had been here at the museum?"

"Oh! Aren't the pieces lovely? We were ever so lucky to get to show them. They've been on exhibit a little over a month now."

A month, four deaths, the rotten smell – there was no doubt in Dean's mind they were finally on the right trail. "Say, anything weird happen around here since the exhibit opened?"

Danny's eyes widened with a different type of interest. "Look, I can take a break in about a half hour or so. How about I meet you up at the restaurant and then we can have a chat?"

"We'll see you up there." Dean managed to dredge up a half friendly smile, then grabbing his still grinning brother by the scruff of the neck, headed off to go wait.

Dean was nursing a cup of horribly expensive coffee, trying hard to ignore the chuckles which still occasionally came across from the other side of the table, when Danny showed up with a jaunty step for their meeting.

"Thanks for talking to us." Sammy actually managed to keep a straight face, and about time it was too. "I'm Sam, and you've already met my brother Dean."

"Brothers, is it? _Interesting_."

The way Danny said it though and how he then glanced over at Dean oh so coyly, as if all sorts of assumed closed doors were suddenly opening, made Dean want to groan.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sammy bite his lip to hold back a smile. Swell. He'd have to come up with something truly inventive to get back at his brother for this.

"Uh, I'm sure." A barely repressed snort followed his statement. He threw Sammy a dirty look. Yeah, definitely would call for something very special. "So, uhm, as I asked before, has anything odd happened around here since the Maya exhibit arrived?"

"Well, I'm normally not one to gossip…" The glitter in his eyes said the total opposite. "But, while nothing really has gone on. And I doubt it's connected…we did have one of our night watchmen disappear almost a week ago."

"There was a robbery?"

Danny looked at him with surprise. "No. Everything is accounted for. The police had us check just in case, even though as far as anyone knows he wasn't here when he disappeared. He left work like normal one night then just didn't show up the next day, and no one's heard from him since."

"Do you know his name?" Sam had his Q out, all his previous mirth at Dean's expense gone.

"Sure, Thomas Williams." Danny leaned forward again, his voice lowering to a conspiring whisper. "Worked here for years and years. Single, sadly heterosexual, a Pisces. Parents deceased. Night owl due to the job. Not a bad dresser. I do believe he has an aunt living in California somewhere."

They were onto something here. Dean was sure of it. "Can you describe him?"

"Honey, can fish swim? Of course I can describe him! Six foot, broad shouldered, milk chocolate skin, you know, the kind that would melt in your mouth not in your hands?"

Sammy choked. And he thought Dean was brazen. Dang, this man had him beat.

Danny giggled. "He was in his mid to late forties, I think. Brown eyes. Wore his hair fairly short. He wasn't into all that gold jewelry or anything, reserved tastes for him, all the way. Not a bad looker either. Very even tempered. For the life of me I can't think of any reason why he would just vanish like that."

Dean flashed a questioning look in Sam's direction. A security guard would carry a weapon, so his fingerprints would be on file. One of the bodies had had the fingers specifically cut away, possibly because the murderer knew it would be a way to determine its identity. He just wasn't sure which of the four bodies it had been.

Sam's gaze met his. He nodded. They had a match.

"Was Mr. Williams the only guard under the museum's employ?"

"Oh no. Trevor and Harry take care of things during the day. Thomas and Ricky split the night shift."

"You know their last names, by any chance?" Sam asked.

"Sure. Trevor Austin, Harry Wilkinson, and Ricky Ah Kin."

Sam wrote them down. "Ah Kin, that's not one I've heard before. Is it Korean?"

Danny raised an eyebrow. "No, my dear, Ricky is from down south, way way south. He's Guatemalan. I think the name might even be Mayan. Tried to ask once, with the exhibit articles being from the same region and all. But he's tight lipped that one."

Dean exchanged another glance with Sammy, this one more pointed than the last. Were they finally getting a break?


	13. Chapter 13

"So, Dean, were you using your awesome skills on Danny too, just like with Clarice? Is that why he was so taken with you?" Sam grinned at the scathing look his questions solicited.

"You'll get yours, Sammy. Count on it. You were having way too much fun at my expense, bitch."

Sam laughed. Oh yeah, he'd be able to hold this over his brother's head for a while. "_Jerk_." He didn't even mind all that much as the once again cloudless Texas sky blinded them with the unrestricted light of the sun. They were finally making progress, getting answers. He couldn't wait for this mess to be over. "Danny said this Ricky guy would be in to work around six?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I figured we'd wait for him in the employee parking lot and catch him before his shift starts."

"As long as we can wait in the shade."

They made their way around the building. The museum closed at five and it was almost that now. They wouldn't have long to wait.

Sometime after five thirty a dark green Ford pickup pulled into the lot. The driver was a short man, about five two, with dark almost reddish hued skin. Black hair was pulled into a short ponytail, his chiseled face broad with a flat nose. He wore generic work boots, jeans, and a brown t-shirt. From the passenger side, he pulled out a plastic covered uniform. This looked to be their guy.

Exchanging looks, Sam led the way over. "Excuse me, are you Ricky Ah Kin?"

The man stopped and stared at them, his expression not friendly in the least. "Who wants to know?" There was no real accent aside from a local twang in his voice.

"My name is Sam, and this is my brother Dean. We were hoping we could talk to you about Thomas Williams?"

His dark eyes studied them intently. For some reason Sam felt his gaze linger on him a lot longer than on Dean. "I already gave my statement to the police."

"I'm sure. But it would really help us out if you'd talk to us. We're private investigators hired by Mr. William's aunt in California. She's pretty frantic to find out what's happened to him."

Dean spoke up. "The police don't seem to be making a lot of progress. She figured we might be able to help them out."

Sam cringed inside but said nothing, knowing Dean didn't have to dig far for the underlying disgust in his voice. As far as his brother was concerned, the cops only saw what they wanted to see whenever the supernatural was involved and so hindered more than actually helped solve a lot of cases. While Sam couldn't entirely argue the point, he knew a lot of it had to do with the fact the cops hadn't been raised to believe in what hid out in the darkness like they had. Why would anyone honestly want to know? Especially when there was so little they could do about so many of them.

Ricky stared at them for another minute then nodded. "Okay, what do you want to know?"

"We understand you might have been the last person to see him?"

"I guess. Met in the changing room as usual. Made sure there hadn't been any problems. Thomas clocked out and then left."

"And he seemed normal to you?"

Ricky nodded once. "Far as I could tell."

Sam pressed on. "By chance, have you noticed anything usual going on around the museum in the last month or more? Anything odd since Thomas disappeared, maybe?"

The man frowned at him, his eyes narrowing. "What exactly are you asking?" He stepped forward, invading Sam's personal space. "You saying he was involved in something?"

"Well, he did work for a big fancy museum, didn't he?" Dean moved forward almost bodily interjecting himself between them. Sam wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or just plain pissed. He could handle this. "There's a lot of expensive stuff in there. Someone could have decided he might be a way to get inside."

Ricky took a step back. "That's crazy."

"So you have another _theory_?" Dean pressed forward, looking almost predatory. What was his brother doing?

"Dean!"

"Look, I don't know what happened to Thomas, okay? I hope you find him and all, but I need to go to work. I'm pulling a double shift tonight as we're short handed. I don't know anything else anyway." He gave Dean a wide berth and hurried to go around him.

"Wait!" Sam tried to cut him off for a moment. "Here, this is my cell number." He fished out a piece of paper from his pocket and quickly scribbled the latter down. "If you remember anything or find out anything else, please give us a call. Okay?"

Ricky snatched the offered paper but didn't look at it. "Whatever." He turned from them and stomped on inside.

As soon as the door closed, Sam turned on his brother. "What the hell was that about? You looked like you were going to pounce on the guy!"

Dean rolled his shoulders as if they were tight. "There's something not right about him. Didn't like him."

"He was our only lead, dammit! Now what do we have?"

"Williams's apartment? Plus you could work up some of your magic and see what else you can dig up on this Ricky guy. Right?"

Sam tried to hold back a sigh. "Right."


	14. Chapter 14

Williams's apartment was a half hour away in a gated apartment complex. Dean parked the car a block over and they walked in when the gate opened for one of the locals. Walking around until they found the right building, they took the stairs to the second floor. Dean kept lookout while Sammy picked the lock of the apartment and let them in, slick as you please.

Dean followed his brother in and closed the door, letting his gaze run over the room. The place was immaculate, a clean freak's palace. There wasn't a thing out of place. Kinda creepy. No wonder the guy was single.

Appeared like he was a bookworm to boot. Dean hadn't seen these many fancy sounding titles since… A quick glance at Sam showed he'd seen them too. Dean didn't dare say anything as his brother tentatively reached out toward one of them, his hand shaking. Before he could touch it, he snatched his hand back as if burned. His whole body had tensed up, the muscle jumping once at his jaw line.

"Sammy?"

His brother turned away from him. The line of his back was stiff.

Dean suddenly found that he'd had his fill of this. His brother had been dodging this more than long enough. "I've been real patient about this, you know? Figured you'd bring it up when you were ready. But you're never going to be ready are you?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking about."

The rigid back and taught shoulders told Dean otherwise. "Lying to me too. That's nice."

Sammy made as if to look back at him, but stopped before he did so.

"Nobody's sorrier about what happened to Madison than me, dude. But falling apart every time you see something that reminds you of her, even as you keep trying so hard to not think about her, you can't tell me everything's all right."

"We have a case, Dean." His words were quick and clipped. "We should be focusing on that and nothing else right now. People's lives are at stake."

Dean couldn't help but sigh. "What about your life? Your well-being? Aren't those important?"

Sammy slammed both hands into the bookshelf as if trying to shove the whole thing through the wall. "My life? My _well-being_? You should be more worried about yours! I'm not the one who'll probably be turning into a jaguar tonight without a single clue as to how or why! Have you ever even considered you might never stop? That you'll be doing this for the rest of your friggin' life?"

Dean didn't know what to say in the face of that onslaught. Had he thought about it? No. Was he worried? No to that too. But he knew his brother wouldn't take those answers well, no not well at all. Sammy's gritted teeth and manic expression screamed it in spades. "I'm just taking things one day at a time, dude. Just like you are."

"Like _hell_. I'll be waiting in the car." Sammy left before Dean could say anything to try and stop him.

Dean took a lot longer combing through things in the apartment than necessary, trying to give his brother some time.

The place was a total bust. He hadn't found anything odd, incriminating, or unusual for that matter. Unless you counted neatness taken to an utter extreme.

As he approached the Impala, he could tell he needn't have bothered taking an extra while. The laptop was open, Sam's entire concentration on the lit screen – an impenetrable wall blaring 'don't bother me' totally surrounding him. Shit.

The door's usual squealed greeting seemed subdued when he opened the door, as if Sammy's cone of silence was affecting Baby as well. His brother staunchly ignored him as he slid in to the driver's seat, only the tight jaw and slumped posture acknowledging he was there.

"Didn't find anything." Dean put the key in the ignition. Sammy said nothing.

The roar of the V8 and the sound of the tires squealing on the pavement as the Impala left the curve were the only things to break the silence.

"You hungry? Should we grab some food?"

A shrug. Well, at least it was something.

The farther they got from the apartment complex, the more Sammy appeared to relax. This in turn made Dean feel a whole lot better. By the time they'd made it to the Taco Bell drive thru, he was ready for a whole lot of grub.

With a burrito in one hand and the steering wheel in the other, he took the darkening streets back toward the motel.

"He's been a resident in Texas for the last ten years."

"Wha-?" The word came out muffled as it tried to fight past a mouthful of refried beans, tortilla, and meat. Dean threw a cautious glance at his brother.

"Ricky, he's been living here for ten years. He's worked for the museum the last five."

Dean nodded but said nothing, not wanting to do anything to jeopardize the lowering of Sammy's walls.

"No traffic tickets, no criminal record. Father is deceased. Mother lives out of state. He has a degree in political science, but doesn't seem to have done much with it. Father was an anthropologist from the US doing long term research on the Maya Indian population in Guatemala. He married a native."

Dean took another bite of burrito, wanting to make sure he kept quiet through this. Even a mouthful of food was no guarantee though, as he well knew.

"From what I can find, in the 80's things got ugly there – political maneuverings, social cleansing, and worse. So the father got out and took his family with him. He became a prominent figure here fighting for Indian rights, asking the US to up embargo measures and increase humanitarian aid."

Dean turned into the motel parking lot and slipped the Impala in a parking slot. Neither of them made a move to leave the car.

"If even a tenth of the stuff I've found on the net is true, those people down there were living through something close to what we keep expecting the world to be like if the demon gets his way." Sam's voice grew small, his face pale.

"That bad?"

"Yeah." He swallowed hard. "The Maya comprised three quarters of the population in Guatemala but were persecuted for trying to hold onto their heritage and native language."

Dean held back a shiver. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. The biggest evil out there is people. They're crazy!"

He saw Sammy nod, but he said nothing else. "Any other info on Ricky? And why is his last name native and not his father's?"

Sammy sat up a little straighter, jostling the computer on his lap. "It is. Seems his dad legally changed it after their return to the states to use it to help push the reforms and awareness of the Maya's plight."

Dean shook his head. Yeah, humans were definitely crazy. "The son didn't follow in his father's footsteps though, right?"

Sammy nodded again. "It looks like he's been drifting since college."

"So the fact he's a Maya and those artifacts with the smells are Maya could just be a big ass coincidence."

"I guess."

But though he was the one to say so, Dean didn't think it was a coincidence at all. He just had no proof one way or the other.


	15. Chapter 15

"The lore on the Maya is confusing as heck." Sam shoved the laptop back, his eyes burning from staring at the screen for so long.

He noticed Dean glance up from the bed where he was watching a badly dubbed Godzilla movie. At least he'd kept the volume low for once.

"Not finding any info?"

"Oh, I've found information, loads of it." It was hard keeping the sarcasm from his voice. "But aside from agreeing on some very high level points, a lot of the other stuff is contradictory, or up to each individual scholar's interpretation, or whatever. Even the deities keep changing. A bunch are only referenced by letters and numbers like G1 through G9 which are part of the calendar systems. Heck, even some of the ones they do know the names of seem to have multiple personality, aspects, forms, you name it. Some even depended on area! The Tumul ruins in Quintana Roo in the Yucatan has what they call the Descending God, but while he was seemingly quite prevalent there, that's the only location so far showing anything on him at all."

Dean sat up suddenly, smacking his head. "Shit! What about the fact the hearts were taken out of the victims? Aren't the Maya the ones in that Mel Gibson movie, doing sacrifices?"

Sam sighed deeply. "From what I gather, Apocalypto is not exactly an unbiased account of the people or the time period. Blood letting did seem to be common as a type of sacrifice. But the people part seems to have come from the Toltecs, during the Maya decline. Yet for every place that says that's true, there's another refuting it. Like I said, there's lots of information, but little of it tends to agree." He stood up, his frustration making him restless.

"Well, all of that's just details anyway. What we need to do is get back to the DMA before Ricky gets off work and tail his ass to his place. When he goes back to work, we can sift through his stuff. We'll find something, I'm sure of it. He's our guy."

Sam shook his head, not understanding where all this certainty was coming from. He just hoped it wasn't only for his benefit. Could be his brother was trying to keep his mind away from other things, like the scene back at Williams's apartment, and the fact Dean might change again tonight. More things to worry about.

Suddenly the walls seemed a little too close, the room a little too crowded. "I'm going out."

"Want me to come with?" Dean was already reaching for the remote.

"No." Sam waved him back. "Enjoy your movie. I just need some air. Won't be long."

"You sure?"

Great, Mother Dean at work. "I think I can manage a few minutes alone, okay? I'm not made of glass."

"You're still a total wuss though."

Sam motioned with his hand in a dismissive gesture and made his way outside, not rising to the bait.

He closed the door behind him and just stood there, taking deep breaths of the cooling night air, letting the pent up stress of the last several hours pour off him like water. The sounds of the TV filtered through the door as Dean turned up the volume, soon followed by the noise of battling monsters and his brother's whoops as he cheered them on. He supposed it was a miracle Dean had been able to restrain himself for so long before.

A heartening feeling grew at his breast. His brother loved him. He would probably rather die than ever say so out loud, but he didn't have to. A lot of little things already shouted the fact to the heavens. Sam knew.

Things would be all right. They would work through them as they always did. He just needed to be patient. Not something he'd ever been very good at really, not when it was over something that truly mattered. He envied the way things just seemed to roll off his brother's shoulders, how he could dismiss stuff and just go on. He did have a tendency to bury things deep down too on occasion, but that seemed to be a Winchester trait, and it plagued every one of them.

The sky was clear, the stars blinking brightly above. The brilliant moon seemed to be in the Last Quarter phase. The moon, phases, four – four a number which recurred a lot with the Maya, four aspects of the gods, the four directions, the four walls comprising the world. Thirteen – the number of levels for the tree and heavens rising above. Nine – the number of levels of the underworld. Jaguars – believed to be able to travel between the worlds above and below.

Sam shook his head. Why think of this now? Nothing made any more sense than it had before.

Checking his pocket for change, he took his time making his way over to the soda machine between buildings. The noise of the coins as they clanged down the slot sounded overtly loud. He pressed the button for a Pepsi and heard the reassuring sound of the can being dispensed.

He was about to reach into the bin to get the drink when he tensed, his honed instincts sensing something. There was someone out there, he was sure of it. Just another restless tenant? He could see no one, but the feeling he wasn't alone wouldn't go away.

He continued with his original move and slid his hand into the aperture, keeping his other senses primed for an attack. He felt the cold can and let his fingers travel to wrap around it. A prick of pain made him pull his hand back. A drop of blood was forming on the side of his hand. Glancing back out toward the parking lot again to reassure himself no one was coming at him, he pushed the flap of the catch basin back and knelt down trying to see what had nicked him. In the bottom of the bin were several small balls of rough rope with dark, shiny needles sticking from them.

Sam stood up in a rush and almost lost his balance as the whole lot spun around him. His back to the vending machine, a wave of nausea crashed through him as he struggled to get his hand in his pocket for his cell phone. A shadow disengaged itself from behind a van and came toward him.

Hands and feet tingling, Sam brought out the Q. He pressed the scroll button on contacts and searched for his brother's name. His legs shook then collapsed from beneath him. The phone flew from his no longer responsive fingers as he slid down to the concrete.

His chest felt in a vise, his breathing shallow. He couldn't raise his head as a pair of work boots came into his field of vision.

"The divinations prove true once again. When there is need, the gods provide."

Sam recognized the voice. The hunters had become the hunted. His vision narrowed then went dark, his last thoughts about how Dean had been right again after all.


	16. Chapter 16

"Yes! Breathe nuclear fire on that sucker. Booyah!" Dean bounced up and down on the bed. Nothing like watching a fifty-story tall mutant lizard stomp all over the Japanese countryside to perk up one's spirits. Yeah!

Godzilla won once again, upholding the honor of all nuclear fire breathers everywhere. Dean found himself whistling the familiar Godzilla theme as the credits rolled by. The Americanized version didn't hold a candle to the old Japanese classics. Godzilla vs. Mothra was one of his all time favorite. Those hot Mothra singing twins, they could come soothe his beast anytime they liked.

He reached to take a sip of his drink only to find it empty. Damn. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, swinging to his feet. Glancing at the clock, he realized Sammy had been gone for almost an hour. He'd said he only wanted to get some air. His brother should have been back by now. But then again, Sammy didn't have the same camaraderie with the old monster flicks that he did.

Dean grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the chair, in case the heat had backed off without the sun to goad it on, and scraped some change off the end table for a new can.

The evening was quiet, except for some heavy porn music booming out of a momentarily open door of a second story unit across the lot.

Dean let his gaze roam about the place as he made his way over to the vending machines. The buzzing of insects as they rammed themselves against the motel's few lit outside lights echoed in and out like a receding tide. He noticed the moon was still shining above, resembling an open eye gazing down, a silent observer of all going on below.

He bet she had a bunch of stories she could tell. He laughed, wondering when in the world he started thinking of the moon as a woman. Maybe it was some weird subconscious connection to werewolves, the full moon, and Madison. Someday he hoped he'd be able to mention it to Sammy without dredging up all his pent up pain, and see what he made of it. Someday…

Dean stared at the vending choices for a minute not really seeing them. Sammy… Snap out of it, dude. You won't be doing him any good this way. He shoved the coins into the machine, deciding then and there that he wanted to find his brother and see his goofy face, and tease the shit out of him until he either cracked a smile or he drove him bouncing nuts – both very optimal results in his opinion.

The clunk as his prize reached the end had him bending over to open the flap. The moment his hand moved it though, a whiff of something rotten rose up around him making him gag. "What the hell?" He stared inside but the only thing there was his Pepsi. Yet he knew that smell. What was it doing here?

Dean jerked up and stared all around. This was wrong. This was very, very wrong. Where was his brother? "Sammy! Are you here?" A pressure in his chest, his gut, told him he wasn't.

He turned back toward the machine, wanting to check the dispenser again, when his foot kicked something under it. Scrunching down, he glanced beneath there then pulled what his foot had hit.

It was Sam's cell phone.

For a moment he forgot to breathe. Then a flush of anger lit him up from top to bottom. His hand curled about the phone until his knuckles turned white. Why Sammy? Why always Sammy! Kidnapped by hillbilly lunatics, stolen by Meg, now this. Why couldn't people just leave his friggin' little brother alone!

Someone was going to pay, and pay big.


	17. Chapter 17

The pounding in Sam's head slowly brought him awake. His eyelids felt like lead weights and he had to struggle to even attempt to open them. His tongue was comparable to swollen leather and seemed to be trying to fold in on itself and down his throat. His shoulders and back were screaming, his head hanging down limply past some hard edge. He could feel pressure pulling against his ankles and wrists, his legs bent as something bit into his thighs.

The first thing he saw was an upside down moon staring at him as if weeping. Words rose and fell in a never ending flow somewhere outside of where he half lay.

Slowly able to turn his head, he spotted a brazier at a forty-five degree angle from him, reddish coals throwing off a little light. A hiss and sputter made him turn toward the other side, in the direction of the river of words. A sandaled figure stood before another brazier, a dark knife glinting wetly in the half-light. More hissing from the coals as drops of blood fell from the cut hand to feed them. He could smell it burning.

Sam tried to say something, but what little sound his still numb mouth made was drowned out by the revving up of an air conditioner unit. He realized they must be on the roof of a building somewhere. Glancing around as best he could, he caught sight of what he thought was the Trammel Crow Center, a tall black structure he'd seen only that afternoon. They were at the DMA.

The hour felt late and aside from a few active security lights in the buildings around them, they looked deserted. Even if he screamed, no one would hear him – that was assuming his voice ever made is past the drone of the air conditioner units. At this time of night, no one would see them.

As soon as the unit wound down, Sam tried to speak again. "Ricky…"

The figure by the brazier turned toward him. Instead of the features he expected, what met his gaze was the face of a jade jaguar. The eyes he saw through the slits were glowing and in no way appeared human. The flow of words, unintelligible to him, but still ringing with presence, came to a halt.

The eyes stopped glowing. It didn't make Sam feel any better.

"You're awake. That's good." Ricky came closer. Sam could now see the gold and jade bracelets at his wrists, the bare chest with a thin film of perspiration, the feathered cloak draped over his shoulders as if he had transformed into a different shape than the one he was born with.

"You have power." Ricky's tone held no malice or anger. It was as if they were having a normal conversation on the street. "The others didn't. Surely your sacrifice will be pleasing to the gods. It will feed and appease them so they may will the power back into my people."

Sam lost sight of him as he moved around whatever he'd been strapped on.

"Ricky, you know this is wrong. Don't do this." He struggled to stretch his neck as far as he could, trying to catch a glimpse of him again.

"What's wrong is the annihilation of my people. And I'm not talking merely about death of the body, but the death of the spirit -- the Heart of the Maya. Those not of our kind have been determined to extinguish it for the last fifty years or more. It's not right." A hissing sound rose from the far end on the right. "Denying us our language, our traditions, our renewal. Who are they to dictate what is right or wrong, what gods are real or not? To his last breath my father fought for his adopted family, and what did he accomplish? Nothing, absolutely nothing, though he struggled until his last breath."

Another hiss, this time from the far left.

"I realized when he died I would get nowhere either, despite my plans to try to work it from the inside." Sam could hear the weight of the realization in his tone. "My people were damned. When I was a boy, despite the fact I'd been chosen to continue in the traditions of the _Ajcuna_, to treat with the spirits and gods as an intermediary for my people, I was taken away too soon. My training was never completed." Ricky came back into view again, this time standing next to Sam's midriff.

"But though I despaired, the gods sought me out. They hadn't deserted us after all. They called to me when they came to the museum. And from their Words I knew what needed to be done."

"Ricky, listen! Killing me is not going to save anyone. Don't do this!"

The jaguar mask pointed upwards as if bathing in the night. The flow of foreign words once more began to issue into the air, the cadence enticing, pleasing, but still somehow flawed.

Sam pulled against his bonds to no avail. "Ricky! You have to stop. Ricky!"

The mask looked down, light once more coming from the eyes. One jeweled hand pulled up the end of Sam's t-shirt while the other wielded the knife, which cut through the cloth as if it weren't even there. The two pieces of the split shirt fell to either side, exposing Sam's chest.

Fear shot through him, turning his skin cold. As the words continued to fill the air, the hair all over his body prickled as if coated in electricity. A hum beyond hearing built up around them and Sam knew he was doomed. He couldn't take his gaze from the knife as it rose up and hovered above him getting ready to strike.

Though it would prove totally useless, there was only one thing Sam could think of to do. "_Dean_!"

A black, roaring blur crashed into Ricky, rolling both bodies on the pebble seeded roof. Sam blinked, not believing his eyes, as what he thought was a jaguar ended up being his brother, who was heartily pummeling the man he just pinned to the ground. The sense of building electricity bled off as if it had never been. The knife skittered across the stones, the mask rolling the other way. The sound of flesh smashing flesh rose and fell over and over.

Sam saw his brother stumble to his feet and back away from Ricky's prone form heaving in great lungfuls of air.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean's face was flushed, his eyes filled with worry.

"_Where the hell have you been, Dean_? You cut that a little too close!" He knew he should be grateful -- that his brother just saved his life. But he'd been scared totally out of his mind. Anger was all he could latch onto at the moment to push the fear away.

"_Dude_, do you have any idea of the kind of security they have at this place? And it's not like I knew where in this blasted maze he had you. I got up here as fast as I could!" A knife came out of nowhere and cut through the closest set of ropes.

Sam gasped as his arm was released, his shoulder screaming doubly hard now that it was free to move.

In short order, Dean had cut all of his bonds and helped him down. Sam grimaced, the returning blood flow hurting like hell. His legs wouldn't hold him, so Dean did instead. He propped him up against the air conditioner unit and helped him sit on the ground.

From the new vantage point, Sam saw that Ricky's makeshift altar was a workbench of some sort. On the floor all around it were lit candles, bowls of what smelled like rum, cigars, and food.

Dean cut off his view as he knelt in front of him and cupped Sam's face in his hands, his concerned gaze raking over him. "Did he hurt you?"

Sam shook his head once then stopped as the movement made him dizzy. "Drugged me, but I think I'm okay."

They both turned to glance to the left as they heard the gravel shift. Ricky had somehow turned over and was even then struggling to crawl toward the mask.

Dean jumped to his feet and rushed toward him. "That's enough of that, looser!"

"Hold!"

Dean skidded to a stop. A shocked sound escaped Ricky's swelling, bleeding face as he stared toward the new voice. Sam turned to look as well. What he saw totally confused him.

A woman stood before them, but not a woman. She had black hair with a white stripe and tribal clothing like he'd seen the Maya people wearing in pictures on the Internet – a woven tube skirt, woven belt, loose shirt. She wore the four colors attributed to corn and also the four directions – the seeds from where life sprang and the boundaries of the world. Her youthful face faced Dean, another full of wrinkles and age was turned toward Sam, the face of a jaguar looked out behind her, and yet another on the far side which he could not see. A living snake graced her/their neck, while another with feathered wings hovered at her/their side.

"Ix Chel!" Ricky crawled forward and prostrated himself before her. "She of the Rainbows! Have you come to help me?"

Sam recognized the name. It was that of the Maya Moon Goddess, keeper of the waters, consort to the Sun.

All of what she was seemed to merge, forming into a middle aged woman who looked down upon the prostrate man with obvious pity. "No, my child, I have not." 

Ricky looked up, aghast. "I don't understand! These, these outsiders have come to destroy my great work. All I have done has been to feed and please the gods. Why would you not help me?" Tears filled his eyes, his confusion plain in every line of his face.

"Because I sent them to stop you."

Sam glanced back toward his brother. Dean stood frozen, his eyes wide, staring with what might be awe, recognition, love? Sam realized instantly she was the one responsible for Dean's changes, for the odd things which had been happening since they arrived in this town.

"_Why_? Why would you do such a thing?"

The woman took a step closer to him then knelt down where he lay. "Because, my child, you forgot how to remember. Without remembrance, there is no growth. And you were used by one who also lost his way long, long ago."

"But I tried so _hard_."

"What you made was not beauty, only death. Death will not feed us – only words of making and loveliness – the honey of the fifth world, the Fruit of the Earth. Your shaping was marred. You have forgotten the true meaning of a Sacrifice of the Heart."

Ricky began to cry. Despite everything, Sam couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

The woman Ricky called Ix Chel rose to her feet. "Warrior, please hold him. He must not be allowed to interfere with what must be done next."

Dean nodded, looking a little confused yet sure all the same. He took pieces of the cut rope and approached Ricky from behind. The man didn't resist as Dean tied his hands and feet then lugged him off to put him down to the side as far away from Ix Chel and the makeshift altar as possible.

The woman nodded in thanks, then turned to face Sam.

"You too are a vessel, but unlike him, you are not cracked, your shaping true. You have been fired and tempered so that great power can reside and flow through you and your spirit remain intact. And so it must now be." Her tone was kind, her gaze welcoming. "But first you must remember, as all the people strive to remember. You must remember that which has been forgotten and let it help you change the soiled Words to Words of music, so those who have been wronged and ignored for so long can be fed and brought peace."

Sam recalled that to the Maya words were everything. Words are what formed life, the world, the entire universe. Every building, cup, major piece of work was always inscribed with a name, something to help it be. But as to him being a vessel? Holding power? Did it have anything to do with the demon's plans for him? The odd things he could do? Yet this woman implied he could be used for good instead. It was something he'd dreamed of with all his heart.

The woman came close and knelt before him, her gaze never leaving his. She placed her hand on his exposed chest.

A great pressure built there and then shot to all parts of his body. Veils parted in his mind as this world and the mirror world of the Maya revealed themselves to him, joining in his heart. The sound of rain fell softly to his ears as plants and mountains over imposed themselves over the buildings of glass and concrete of his waking reality.

Ix Chel's facets increased, creatures and faces in layers and layers radiating in and out. Sam glanced at his brother again. Dean now looked the warrior she named him, wearing bone earrings, a feathered headdress, woven breeches, even as he retained his usual look and clothes. The black jaguar face undulated in and out over his features.

All five worlds of creation were there, as well as the gods and all the Words – the Words that were form – stone and fire, plants, water and lightning, wind and animals, and finally shape, the fruit of all the Words of the worlds before.

And though all of it was strange, it was also wondrous and right. As if he were seeing the world complete for the very first time.

"You must take the items and place them on the altar. Then you must look at them and see the Words of their making. You must take those Words and weave them, create with them, make beauty from them, so those who are housed within can be who they were again. Those who can help will come," she said.

The pain in Sam's shoulders, back, wrists, and legs was gone. At her beckoning, he rose to his feet. He glanced down at himself and saw he too was layered. He appeared as Dean had described him from his dream. The pouch at his chest felt warm and alive. The hidden parts within making their names known to him in his mind, the parts they could play whispering themselves to him.

Power gathered from the air and rolled in his belly, undefined, unfocused and growing. It could not remain there forever.

Almost in a trance, he took the flint knife and the mask from where they had fallen and placed them on the makeshift altar. Tendrils of dark energy and the horrid smell Dean spoke of before, and which only now could he smell, emanated from them in waves. He pulled his hands away from them as if from sticky tar.

Faint whispers came from the items as he gazed upon them, Words which he did and did not understand. Lightning flashed in the night sky, causing after images in his eyes, but these were of other times, other places, rituals, like cascading memories only now recalled again.

Hesitantly at first and then with growing confidence, Sam began picking Words from those ringing in his mind, creating connections, cadence, music. The vocalizations were like none he was used to, having special ways to emphasize their parts and thus change their meaning. But it was familiar, his throat and tongue remembering what his mind did not, as the Words which made him who he was joined with those around them. Grabbing one of the bowls of rum, he took a large mouthful and then sprayed it in the thinnest of veils over the objects as hundreds, thousands had done in other rituals before him.

Animals who changed shape as they passed by danced and spoke before the altar as well, echoing his Words or adding harmonies. The power flowed from him to the objects, the stench and energy changing, until they glowed like honey. Bit by bit the honey disappeared, eaten, consumed, a sense of satisfaction and ease filling the air.

Then it was done.

A cry of joy came from across the roof, from where Dean stood vigil over Ricky. It soon turned to open weeping.

Tired, empty, yet triumphant, Sam sat down on the stones beneath his feet. The realities parted once again so he saw only the one he lived in, but still felt the other connected through him. He knew he would see it again in his dreams.

"Sammy, you all right?" His brother hovered just out of reach, as if unsure what liberties were allowed him.

Sam nodded, feeling the sweat cooling on his brow and body. His voice was raw. "Yeah."

"Warrior, to me."

Ix Chel came forward, extending a hand in Dean's direction.

Much to Sam's surprise, his brother hurried forward and took her hand, standing stiffly yet eagerly before her as he'd seen him do countless of times with their Dad.

"You have done well. You have my thanks." She smiled then kissed him on the cheek. Sam was doubly surprised as he watched his brother blush to his roots. Then the woman raised her hand and placed it over his chest.

Sam felt the static of power in the air.

Dean gave a gasp then his knees gave way, but she caught him before he could fall. A moment later, he was able to straighten up on his own.

"What did you do to him?" Sam struggled up to his feet, his gaze glued to his brother. Other than looking a little dazed he seemed fine, but Sam wanted to make sure.

"Nothing. I have only retrieved my son, who shared his Words with your brother for a while, revealing his hidden nature -- as in times long past."

"Dean?" He didn't mean to doubt her, but couldn't help himself.

"I'm okay. Wild ride, dude." His tired, mischievous grin was all Sam really needed.

Ix Chel's dark warm gaze met his. "You and your brother are warriors as of old. You bring justice to those who cannot claim it for themselves. You cause things to be as they should be again. It is a righteous thing you do. Yet you have your own troubles. Your road will be long and hard – I have seen this. But you are family, and there is so much strength in family. Cling to it. Do not forget it. Family shows you where you come from, where your origins lay. It might very well save you someday."

Sam could only stare. Who was this woman, really? Were there truly such things as gods? With all he'd seen, with all he'd been made to remember, what couldn't be real?

"And since you have helped me and mine, as well as stopped a great wrong, I have a gift for you." The woman came close and to his amazement embraced him. Her touch was affectionate, encompassing, caring. It was like coming home, but also so much more. It was like what he'd dreamed of when he was little, something he'd been missing and yearned for but never knew how to vocalize. This was what it was to be held by his Mother.

It was impossible. His mind knew that, but his heart said it was no such thing. A lump lodged itself in his throat, the sensation of love and comfort so total it was painful.

"My son…the things that pain you are not your fault. That you would do such a thing for her, yourself, one whom she loved, and not leave it to a stranger, is to be commended not cursed. The strength you imparted to her to allow her to reach peace gracefully, these were things of beauty, things of love, of respect."

Sam's heart lurched in his chest as he realized whom she meant. How, how did she know these things? Yet every word rang to his core with truth, with wisdom.

"She died with your breath on her lips and your tears on her face. You did the only thing that could be done. Now you must mourn for her, you must let the grief trapped inside you go. She would not wish you to be in such agony."

He tried to pull back, physically, mentally, but she wouldn't let him. Her hand rose to hold the back of his head, keeping him pressed against her, her comfort. He lowered his forehead until it rested against her shoulder.

"Let your tears stain the earth so they may be reused to bring life. Shed your pain on the ground so the earth may take it from you, for she is strong. Then remember your lover and cherish the memories. Let Madison live again and let your time together bring you comfort instead of pain."

He couldn't stop it. Didn't know if he wanted to stop it. Every moment, every sensation, every word with Madison flushed through him as if they just occurred. He cried out, the wounds reopened and fresh. The guilt and what if's pummeling him like falling rocks.

The enveloping warmth seeped deeper, buffered his soul. The walls and gates he'd so staunchly built up came tumbling down with the barest of caresses. A sob welled up his throat and though he fought against it, it found release. With one escaped, soon there followed another and another.

In arms that enveloped him fully, Sam wept. His pain and loss poured forth like a fount to spill and be absorbed by the rich soil. It sucked away the insecurities, the sting, leaving more room for the beauty of what they'd had, of the things he'd found in her to shine forth.

Then Ix Chel was gone and there was Dean, rushing toward him, gathering him in as his legs gave way and he tried to fall.

"I…"

"Shshsh, shshsh, it's okay, Sammy. It's okay."

Sam clung to his brother, shaking his head, knowing there were things he must say. Things he'd put off for too long. "I fell for her, Dean. I know it was fast, and sudden, but I…I _loved_ her." He swallowed hard. Pain and warmth warred inside him. "I loved Madison, and she loved me. And now she's dead!"

Something warm landed on his cheek from above him. Sam clung to his brother that much harder.

"I know you did, Sammy. I know you did." Dean's voice whispered down to him, thick with emotion. "Madison knew it too."


	18. Chapter 18

Dean stepped a little harder on the accelerator, letting Baby have her head for all she was worth. The Dallas skyline fell behind them, the bright sun reflecting off the massive glass buildings.

He turned on the radio, throwing a glance in his brother's direction. Sammy sat in the seat, loose and more relaxed than he'd been in months. There was even a touch of color on his cheeks.

"Who was she really, do you think?" His brother was staring out the window, his tone soft.

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. She never really said. She had power though, that's for sure." And he was indebted to her, whoever she was. She'd helped his brother deal and for that alone, he'd be eternally grateful.

"It's really sad, in a way."

"What is?"

"All Ricky ever wanted was to save his people, his way of life. To save something that had been taken from him."

Dean nodded, sure Sammy was right. But he was in no way willing to forgive the man for the steps he'd taken because of it.

After everything was said and done, Ricky gave them no trouble. They left him tied up on the roof of the DMA and an anonymous phone call made sure he, the relics, and other evidence on the rood were found.

"But why kill Thomas?" Sam asked. "It was such a risk."

Dean shrugged. "My guess is the dude probably left work, forgot something and came back for it. He noticed something wasn't right, went to check it out, and paid the price. He was way too much the fussy type. Couldn't leave it alone, whatever it was."

Sam sighed. "You're probably right."

"You bet your geeky ass I am. I'm always right."

He saw Sam throw him a disbelieving disgusted look. "What…ever."

Dean grinned to himself and turned up the radio, pressing the gas pedal down just a little more.

The End


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